


I will carry your pain all the way home

by authoressjean



Series: the changed future [21]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, do I even have to tag for angst anymore or do y'all just assume at this point?, mentions of past injuries, serious pain, there are a few moments of fluff I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoressjean/pseuds/authoressjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "if the hills fall, I will rally to you".</p><p>With Thorin worrying about the Ered Luin trade, the last thing he needs is to worry about an old injury that's merely flaring up a little. That's all, and as far as Bilbo's concerned, it's nothing worth worrying over.</p><p>Until it suddenly isn't a little flare up. It's something far worse.</p><p>And because that isn't enough, devastating news is delivered to Erebor that will change everything forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A little ache is nothing

**Author's Note:**

> I've been fighting with this and another fic for some time. And while this fic finally behaved and shaped up, the other one...hasn't. But at least I have something to work with. So you get fic.
> 
> I have new readers that have been crazy awesome and racing through the fics to catch up. Hello new readers! Welcome to the angst-ridden insanity that is my brain!
> 
> To ALL my readers: y'all continue to rock my socks.

Giggles were the first thing Bilbo heard. He bit back his grin and kept right on gardening. If he didn’t finish covering the flowers and plants as best he could, since the first frost had come early and as a terrible surprise, he wouldn’t have a garden come spring.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t listening for more giggles as certain little ones and probably some not so little ones were attempting to creep up on him.

More giggles. The gentle sound of the cloth door to the garden being moved aside. He carefully kept his gaze on the plant in front of him, but then spoke, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard. “It’s so lovely to garden _alone_. My, what a refreshing day, all out here _by myself_.”

He could hear the hitched breaths of those trying their hardest to not giggle even when all they wanted _was_ to giggle. Little footsteps were getting good at being quiet, he had to give them that. Except he knew that they were getting closer. The gentle taps of boots against the stone were more than enough to give them away. He waited, setting his thick winter sheets aside.

One, two…

“Attack!” Lili yelled, racing towards him, Baldrin right behind her. They both squealed when they found themselves hoisted into the air by Bilbo and promptly swung around under each of his arms. He found himself laughing along with them as they giggled. Seemed all they’d wanted was to be spun around in circles.

Then there was a sudden sharp spike of pain, and Bilbo wobbled, enough to send them all to the ground. He landed first, the children tucked safely against him, and they immediately wriggled out from his hold. Stunned, he tried to pinpoint the pain, but it was gone.

The children were still giggling, and he forced himself to focus. “Again!” Baldrin ordered. “Again!” He began tugging on Bilbo’s hand, and Bilbo shook himself and chuckled.

“No, I’ve got to get the plants all covered. They need a blanket to sleep with, now that it’s gotten cold outside. And I’m much too old to be doing that now. Ask your Uncle Kili.” Who Bilbo knew was somewhere close by.

Sure enough, Kili came down the few steps into the garden, a grin on his face. “I can’t spin nearly as well as you can, though. Sorry.”

“We got bored,” Hildili said. “It’s much nicer out here. I love your garden, Unca.”

Bilbo’s grin softened into a smile, and he tugged her into his embrace. She was getting so big now, thirteen years of age, but somehow still as young and playful as she always had been. “I know you do, dear heart,” he said. She beamed at him, then giggled when Baldrin plopped himself on Bilbo’s other side. “I know you both do.”

“Can we help?” Hildili asked. “Please?”

“I’m nearly finished, actually,” Bilbo admitted. Upon seeing the disappointed looks on their faces, however, he quickly said, “But I could use your help inside: I think there ought to be some lovely honey tea about. You can help me find it so we can have a nice warm drink. How does that sound?”

Baldrin gave a cheer and jumped to his feet, already almost halfway to the door. “Wait wait _wait_ ,” Kili demanded, and he caught his youngest nephew with one arm. “Oh no you don’t, you scamp.”

“Unkee down!” Baldrin said, wiggling in his attempt to get out of Kili’s hold. Kili simply lifted him into the air, and Baldrin began falling into giggles again. “Unkee down!”

“In a bit,” Kili agreed, and he kept Baldrin up with one hand, much to the child’s glee. “You about done?”

“I think so. My fingers have about had it.” His nose felt too cold, too, and Bilbo shivered as he got to his feet. Lili was already up and bouncing around, constantly twirling around and around as she typically did. Bilbo shook his head and got himself to standing.

There, that pain again. It wasn’t a strong spike, but it was steady, throbbing through his leg, enough to make him stumble a little and clutch at his leg. No, not his leg: his ankle. It was a sharp, stabbing pain that dissipated quickly. But the cold creeping up from the ground wasn’t helping; in fact, it was only making it worse.

“Uncle? You all right?” Kili asked, frowning at him. He had one hand out as an offer to steady him. Baldrin and Hildili were already gone, and Bilbo could hear them giggling down the hallway.

“Yes, I’m all right,” Bilbo assured him. But the pain still remained. He took a tentative step and winced. It was the pain that heralded more pain, if he wasn’t careful. It made him want to gently roll his ankle, to get rid of the sensation.

Kili didn’t look convinced. “It’s your ankle, isn’t it,” he said. When Bilbo took another step, he reached out and caught Bilbo’s arm in his. “Easy.”

“It’s fine,” Bilbo tried to say, but Kili just scowled at him. “Really, it is.” With every step, it felt more solid, and by the time they were back inside, it felt nearly normal. The warmth from inside the mountain was helping, too.

“Thorin should be done with his Council meeting in a bit,” Kili said, still leading Bilbo by the arm. “Maybe have Oin look at it.”

Absolutely _not_. “Neither of them need to be involved,” Bilbo insisted. Kili stared at him, then began to narrow his gaze. “No, no, and no. Leave them both out of this.”

“I’m not keeping secrets,” Kili began, but Bilbo shook his head.

“It’s not a secret, they both know the ankle’s got its issues. There’s absolutely nothing to tell at the moment. Honestly, Kili, it feels fine now. I just don’t think it liked the extra weight of the children which, by the way, where _are_ they?”

A panicked look stole across his nephew’s face, and then Kili took off running down the hall. “Lili, Baldrin!”

Bilbo watched him go, a smile playing on his lips. The next step ached a little, and then subsided. No, it would be fine. He’d make them tea, and everything would be just fine. And if he decided to wrap the ankle again, well, no one needed to know except for him.

 

His uncle was being stupid again. Kili was fairly certain about it.

Currently, Bilbo wasn’t showing any signs of stupidity. In fact, he usually didn’t: it was typically Kili’s job, or Fili’s job, to be mentally deficient. They were good at it. It made it that much more satisfying when they were actually responsible and intelligent and left their opponents whirling. It made for a good day.

But the point was that Bilbo was being uncharacteristically foolish, and Kili wasn’t having it for a moment longer. Especially not when his other uncle was right there, speaking with Fili and Dwalin about the goings on of the mountain for the day. Bilbo was sitting by the fire, his feet propped up as if he’d had a very long day, but Kili knew the truth. He had no doubt that Bilbo’s ankle was still bothering him.

“Uncle,” Kili began, catching both of their attentions at once, but Holdred suddenly came flying into the room, gasping for air.

“Papa, Oin says I passed! I passed!”

Well, Kili wasn’t about to trump THAT news. Not when Fili was spinning Holdred around, the pride on his face only encouraging the cheer and good wishes of the others. Bilbo was off his chair, and he was walking normally, coming over to embrace Holdred for a job well done.

“I missed somethin’,” Gimli said from the other side of the room. “What’d my uncle pass ye on?”

“Oin said if Holdred passed his basic test on medicinal herbs and beginning aid, he’d let Holdred apprentice with him,” Dernwyn said, smiling broadly. “And Holdred elected to take the test now.”

“You’re barely sixteen years!” Gimli burst out, and then he broke into a broad grin. “I’m proud of ye, laddie! Apprenticin’ under Oin himself!”

Holdred looked fit to burst, and Kili grinned, nothing mattering more than his nephew’s broad smile. He opened his arms and Holdred raced forward, laughing and holding on tightly as Kili spun him around. He was a little dizzy when they came to a halt – not Holdred of course, he was off like a straight arrow across the room again – but it had been worth it. His nephew, growing up so quickly.

“Is it common, to apprentice so young?” Legolas asked to his right. He carefully caught Kili about the shoulders and held him still. Thankfully, the world came to a halt not much longer after that. “Even in the world of men, sixteen is very young, and he’s only just reached the age but a few months ago.”

“I don’t think he’ll be doing much, to be honest,” Kili said. “As far as dwarves go, sixteen’s still very much a child. He wouldn’t have been allowed to apprentice under normal circumstances until he was at least thirty.” There was also the added fact of Oin getting older every day. These days, his vision was going, too. But there was no mistaking the bright light in Holdred’s eyes, nor the careful way he’d been following Oin about for the past seven years, pestering him with questions, watching his every move. His nephew, learning to be a great healer.

Kili was fairly certain he was going to burst with pride. He met Fili’s gaze across from the room, and they both grinned at the same time. Fili’s children, growing up so quickly. It was wonderful to see. It made Kili so _proud_ to be their uncle. He wondered if this was how his uncles felt, as they’d watched him and Fili over the years.

It made him remember his other uncle, though. And now that everyone was settling down again, it was about time to bring up what his hobbity uncle wouldn’t talk about. “Uncle, listen, I-“

“He passed!” Oin boomed, coming into the room, and everyone cheered again. Kili huffed and crossed his arms. Honestly, if he hadn’t known about Holdred’s testing and yearning to be an apprentice under Oin, he would’ve thought Bilbo had set it up himself.

“A fine head on his shoulders,” Oin said loudly. “A fine head indeed. You should be proud.”

“We are,” Fili assured him, voice projected so Oin could hear. Oin nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less.

A hand at Kili’s elbow made him turn, and he found Bilbo standing beside him. “Don’t,” Bilbo said, voice low. “Kili, please. It’s fine, truly.”

“As if you’d tell me the truth,” Kili countered, but he pitched his voice so only his uncle could hear him. Thorin was gazing with such pride at Holdred, and he was smiling at Fili and Dernwyn the way he smiled at Kili whenever he’d done something Thorin thought worthwhile. It was fairly often, these days.

Bilbo tilted his head with pursed lips. If Bilbo was annoyed, then at least the pain couldn’t be too great. “Look, I promise, when it becomes more than I can handle, I’ll give you full permission to tell Thorin. I may even tell him before you have to. But right now, it’s nothing I can’t handle, and nothing beyond what I’ve handled before. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

It still wasn’t the answer that Kili wanted, but Bilbo looked as firm as firm could be about it, and there was a hint of pleading in his eyes. A quick laugh made them both turn back towards the others.

Thorin was chuckling, watching as Baldrin chased Holdred around him, and there was a promised gleam in Hildili’s eyes that she would join in when she had a chance to. Holdred was laughing, too, as he was chased around Thorin’s legs, and Thorin looked as content and happy as he could be.

Kili glanced back to his other uncle. There was such fondness in his gaze as he watched Thorin, his eyes only for his husband. When he finally tore his attention back towards Kili, a small desperation began to bloom in his eyes. “Please,” Bilbo said softly.

Caught in the middle, Kili clenched his fists. “Tell me how I can help, then,” he insisted, and Bilbo looked so relieved that Kili felt a little more justified in letting his uncle off the hook. For now.

Because if he so much as saw Bilbo grimace in pain, he was going _straight_ to Thorin, no matter what he’d told Bilbo. There was just no trusting his hobbity uncle when it came to keeping himself healthy and safe.

“If you wouldn’t mind helping with the gardening,” Bilbo said, and there was no reluctance in his voice, just gratitude. Progress. Perhaps his uncle was getting wiser in his older days. “It only really hurts when it’s cold. When I’m tucked inside, I’m just fine. There’s only a few things left in the garden for the year-“

“Then leave the gardening to me, or to Legolas or Tauriel,” Kili said. “We’ll handle it. That’ll keep you inside until it gets warmer outside.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it, if you don’t mind.”

“I have no mind, or so you’ve told me plenty of times,” Kili teased. Bilbo looked grateful for his aid, and if it was the cold that was keeping Bilbo in pain, then Kili would happily take over the gardening. Success.

“That’s certainly true,” Dwalin said, having overheard the last bit of their conversation. “Thorin, does your nephew have a mind?”

“When he wants to,” Thorin said with a very serious manner, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that spoke of his mirth. Kili huffed, as if offended, but his lips kept twitching up. He had Bilbo’s promise to stay inside, which would keep him healthy, and Holdred’s announcement, which would keep them all happy.

Maybe he would make a decent advisor, one day, like his uncles and his mother kept saying. Just maybe.

 

“You are not well.”

“I’m fine,” Bilbo insisted. “ _Honestly_.” But he continued walking in a very careful manner, as if afraid to upset something. And Legolas had a very good idea as to what it was.

Even if Kili had not confided in him his concerns for Bilbo’s health, Legolas would have been able to tell that something was amiss with the hobbit he proudly called kin. His steps were slower, though he tried to hide it, and his mind often seemed to focus on something else besides the tasks he did. Kili had been right to worry, for though Bilbo was taking cautious steps, Legolas was concerned that he was not taking his pain as seriously as he ought to.

Perhaps Legolas was a tad biased, for Kili’s concerns often became his concerns. And he also considered Bilbo a beloved friend, family member, and uncle, just as much as he did Thorin.

Which, speaking of… “Does Thorin know of your injury?”

“He was there when it healed, I would have to assume so,” Bilbo said, continuing down the hallway. He gave polite nods to the dwarves he passed, but otherwise carried on, as if nothing else was wrong. No one even so much as glanced at him twice, having already given him greetings.

Except Legolas knew better. “I meant the recent injury.”

“It’s nothing new,” Bilbo said, finally pausing by the stairs to face Legolas. “It really isn’t. It just gets…bad, around the winter weather, and this year-“

“This year?” Legolas repeated incredulously. “This is not the first time?”

“ _This year_ it just got a bit more pronounced. That’s all.”

Of all the things to disregard, Legolas would never have thought Bilbo to be so foolish as to toss aside this one. “This is a serious matter,” he began, but Bilbo shook his head.

“The past few years, it’s simply been a dull ache, and after I warm it a bit and rub at it some, it goes away. Would you have me report _every_ ache and pain to Thorin, or to Oin? I’ve told Thorin it’s a bit cumbersome, sometimes, and he’s obliged by massaging my feet and ankles for me. I’ll soak it, sometimes, in warm water, and that helps, too. It’s just an old injury, like my grandfather had. You have to treat it differently. And it just happened to flare up more this year than before. That’s all, Legolas, I promise.”

Legolas knew too well about old wounds. Every now and then, his chest would ache, where he’d taken the spear for Kili. And he never told Kili of it, for how could he? And what good would it do? It would not kill him, it would only leave him a little sore, and then it would subside. Old battle wounds and scars often persisted for many years. Some persisted through lifetimes. That, Legolas could not change, so to discomfit Kili with that knowledge would do no good.

He finally gave a slow nod. “If it worsens-“

“I will tell Thorin, and Kili, and Oin, _and_ you,” Bilbo said, and he was smiling now. Legolas couldn’t help but return the grin. “I might as well send out a declaration, and you can pass the note along to everyone else you meet. It would be easier than my telling everyone that I’m going to have to tell, if it worsens. And I don’t see it doing so. I’m being easier on it, I haven’t gone outside into the cold, thanks to you and Kili and Tauriel. It’s warm in the mountain, and I’ll be fine.”

“Though it is warmer than the outside, the mountain is not as warm as you make it to be,” Legolas warned. He could see that Bilbo had begun wearing his longer winter trousers and thicker shirts. He’d obviously taken steps to keep himself warm.

“Which is why I’ve kept closer to the fires these past few days,” Bilbo countered. “Now, can we keep going? Because if we’re late to lunch, Thorin _will_ be worried, and for absolutely no reason at all.”

Legolas was certain that Thorin would have reason to be concerned, if the injury worsened. But Bilbo was not being so much cautious of the ankle as he was careful to tend to it, to ‘baby’ it, as Kili would put it. It left him feeling that much better about it.

“Still, if it is not any concern, then why not speak of it to Thorin?” he asked.

“Because Thorin’s got the Blue Mountain trade to worry about, amongst the continued mess with Dain, and hasn’t been sleeping as it is,” Bilbo said over his shoulder. “He’s weary. Why do you think he’s been hiding up in the royal chambers as often as he has? The last thing he needs is some old injury to bother about. Until it becomes something for him to be concerned with, I’d rather put less on his plate, not more.”

It was fair. “I thought the trade was going well with Ered Luin,” Legolas said. The less spoken about Dain these days, the better. Had it not been for Bilbo’s political tact and Fili’s strong voice acting as a shield, things may very well have come to blows. As it was, Legolas feared that there was irreparable damage between Thorin and Dain that would never be resolved, now.

Bilbo made a face. “That’s the problem. Thorin’s concerned it’s going a bit _too_ well. He knew some of the dwarves there, and while he wants to make the trade for the sake of those who were kind to him and the other Ereborians, he’s also concerned about those who wanted nothing to do with him. He doesn’t need a civil war, and right now, they’re acquiescing far too readily. He thinks they’re going to ask for something that he can’t give them. But honestly, I think he’s just worrying for the sake of worrying.”

That sounded like something Thorin would do. “Perhaps a caravan to Ered Luin would settle things,” Legolas suggested. “Not just ravens bearing words, but dwarves, physical dwarves, to speak words of peace and offer trade. The mountains are not far from the Shire. If Thorin went, you could accompany him and see kin.”

Bilbo chuckled and paused right outside the dining hall doors. “You are every bit a prince, in both kindness and state,” he said, and his words left Legolas smiling. “I’ll bring it up with Thorin. I think it’s a wonderful idea. You’ll make a good king.”

“Alas, I do not think it will be,” Legolas said, but he was still smiling. “For if I were to be the king of Greenwood, I would have to steal the future King of Erebor’s advisor to come with me. And that, I highly doubt Fili would allow.”

“Then you’ll have to settle for letting Kili visit the mountain,” Bilbo said, and Legolas let out a bright laugh as they entered the dining hall. It made Kili look up from where he sat at the table, and when Legolas met his gaze, it was with a cheerful heart and a warm love for the one he would never leave behind. Kili grinned at him, and it made him want to take his husband aside and press gentle kisses against his skin over and over again.

Even more so when Bilbo brought up his idea, and, when Thorin agreed to it, Kili rested a hand on his and squeezed it tightly.

 

The moon was bright, and the cool air was a boon, after a long, hot day in the forges. But Thorin had needed the reprieve, had needed something to focus on besides everything else going on. The Ered Luin trade routes finally being established would be such a gift to not only the dwarves in the Blue Mountains, but also to the dwarves here in Erebor. It had been a relentless struggle for the past few years, and now that it was coming to fruition, the ease of the agreement had left him more suspicious than not.

And he refused to think about the current state of affairs with the Iron Hills. He had tried once, in the past four years, to reach out and offer aid to the Iron Hills, to extend a hand of peace, though the Council had been thoroughly confused as to why it had been necessary. Needless to say, given how the nobles of the Iron Hills had written on Dain's behalf, saying that their newly crowned king had no interest in speaking to Thorin, Thorin hadn’t tried again, and things had been tense ever since.

So he’d taken himself down to the forge to work beside his people, to aid them with his arms and his talent as best he could. They had been unfailingly grateful, and the simplicity of the act had left him weary, but in a good way. Once, he had loathed forging, hating the less than stately work and how little it paid when he had Dis and two little ones to help feed.

Now, though, it was a comfort, to be able to work the metal and focus on nothing save for the next landing of his hammer. He had forgotten the lull of working with his own two hands, of creating something that was all his. It had felt good.

Not nearly as good as the cool air from outside currently felt, and he let his royal braids down with a sigh of relief.

“Are you _trying_ to see if it will snow in here? Because your nephews did, just the other day, and though they blamed it on the children, Dernwyn and Dis knew the real reason why they did what they did.”

Thorin smiled broadly at the sound of his beloved’s disgruntled voice. “I had wondered, once, if Fili and Kili would take the opportunity to blame childish behavior on their children, if they had had any to blame,” he said, and he turned back into the room. Bilbo was curled up in a chair by the fire, blankets almost up to his nose, and he was scowling at his husband. The fire caught the laugh-lines on his face, reminding Thorin too much of his husband’s age. 67 was nothing for a dwarf, not even of age, but for a hobbit, it was evident that his husband was aging. He pushed the thought aside, much as he often did these days. There was no helping time and what it would do.

“Get in here,” Bilbo demanded, shivering for good measure, and Thorin let out a laugh.

“It’s wonderful and cool, you should see for yourself.” Nevertheless, Thorin did close the balcony doors. A thought came to mind, and he casually sauntered over to Bilbo. “But if you insist that I come inside-“

“You keep those cold hands _away_ from me,” Bilbo said. He huddled up even more into his blanket, leaving only his head, hair, and ears visible. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“You asked that I come inside, and now you tell me to go elsewhere? I had thought you were better at making up your mind than that,” Thorin said, still moving over with his hands at the ready. Bilbo was pursing his lips, trying to contain his own grin.

“I didn’t say come over to me – no, no, _no_ , I don’t want your cold hands- Thorin!”

Thorin suddenly dove forward and tried to push his hands under Bilbo’s blanket to get to his neck. Bilbo was laughing and quickly moving away, off of the chair and towards the bed. He stumbled on the ground suddenly and wound up taking Thorin with him. They both landed on one of the rugs, panting for breath. For a moment, Bilbo looked pained, and Thorin immediately began to sit up, to see how he had hurt him.

Then Bilbo began to laugh and shoved at Thorin from beneath the blanket, and Thorin relaxed. “You insufferable _brute_ ,” Bilbo said, trying to glare but still laughing too hard to accomplish it. “I should get a bucket of ice from the kitchen and dump it down your back. That’s how we deal with cold hands in the Shire.”

“Lucky we’re not in the Shire, then,” Thorin said. The fire was warm even from here, and he glanced over his shoulder and found the wood stacked high. “You _were_ cold, weren’t you?”

“I _am_ cold, and then someone came at me with his frozen fingers. Which, frankly, is not kind, nor is it fair.”

Already Thorin was starting to feel the same heat as in the forge. “Are you well?” he asked, frowning at how staggering the heat was. “Bilbo?”

“I’m fine,” Bilbo promised. “Just cold. You had the doors open, so it wasn’t as stifling. Here, help me up.”

Thorin did so, carefully helping Bilbo to his feet, then pulled him in to his embrace. “You need no fire,” he said softly. “I’m here. And I will keep you warm.”

“You’re much preferred over flames, I agree,” Bilbo murmured. “Fili handled the Council today, I heard.”

And he’d done well with it, from what Dis had said. “He did. I took a day of, well. Not quite rest. But a day away from the griping and last minute discussions of Ered Luin. Fili mentioned Legolas’s idea, and it was well received by all, from what I heard.”

“ _Good_. Not just about the idea, but about your taking a day off. You needed one. You’ve been far too wrapped up in that nonsense.” Bilbo leaned back and reached up to cradle Thorin’s face in his hands. “I’m tired of seeing circles beneath your eyes,” he said softly.

For all the simple peace he’d found in the forge, for all the cool air had helped him, nothing ever gave him more peace, more contentment, than the hobbit before him. He smiled, completely unable to help himself, and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. There was nothing he would not do for his husband, his beloved, his reason for being and breathing. _Nothing_.

When he pulled away, however, he found Bilbo’s face screwed up, as if in pain, or bracing for a blow. “What’s the matter?” he asked. Had Bilbo been more injured from their playful fall than he’d said?

Bilbo dared to open one eye. “Your lips are _cold_ ,” he muttered.

Thorin’s laugh was heard all the way back in the main chamber of the royal halls.


	2. Time does not heal all wounds.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The simple and small injury is not simple nor small anymore, and the secret's out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of hurt this chapter. And if you're wondering if this is how an ankle injury, especially an old injury damaged again, actually feels, then I can tell you that yes, it does. I've done it. And it hurts about how I've described it here.
> 
> Moral of the story, kids: don't ever double-sprain, then break, your ankle.
> 
> Also: the dwarves don't have the same medical applications that we do. From a historical standpoint, there wasn't much they could do with an old injury, back in the good old days. It healed as best it could and then they hoped you lived. They were more fond of lopping off a limb if it meant saving a life, and leeches were all the rage for medicinal needs, such as bleeding out an illness. Apothecary shops, even in the 18th and 19th century, were a thing of VERY interesting remedies...

It was not one face that he was met with, the next morning.

It was four different faces. And none of them looked pleased.

“Oh for Eru’s sake,” Bilbo muttered, and promptly shouldered past them all. Unfortunately for him, all of them were his kin, and he knew exactly how stubborn they could be. “Don’t you four have anything better to do?”

“No,” Dis said.

“Not anywhere close,” Dernwyn concurred.

“Uncle said you fell last night,” Kili said, at least explaining just what they were doing there. “He said you looked as if you were in pain.”

“Given that he was all but _chasing_ me with his blasted cold hands, yes, there was a bit of pain involved!” More pain from his ankle than not, really, but that wasn’t anything they needed to know. “Go away.” He had things to do. Important things. Like not being anywhere near where they were.

Actually, he had thoughts to take to Thorin about the Blue Mountains, and how he’d like to accompany him past the Shire, to see where Fili and Kili had been raised. He could help Dwalin keep Thorin from getting too frustrated or grumpy. Hildili had started calling him a ‘rain-cloud’, after Bilbo had shared the saying of the Shire with her, and it had been worth it to see the look on his face the first time he’d heard it.

“Kili was right, wasn’t he,” Dis asked, hurrying to catch up. “Your ankle _is_ bothering you. Bilbo _Baggins_ , you know better than that.”

Not that he was going to admit it to her, or tell her that he’d wrapped it just a bit tighter this morning, nearly so tight that he couldn’t feel his toes. Or that he’d finally dragged his cane out from deep in the wardrobe, contending that the support would be welcome. “It’s fine,” he said for what felt like the umpteenth time.

“Let me just tell Uncle-“

“ _No_ ,” Bilbo said, whirling around briefly to glare at Kili. Kili glared back. “Leave him be. He’s got enough going on, worrying about the trade route agreements, and you know Dain’s weighing heavily on his mind as well, though he never brings it up. He doesn’t need this nonsense, too! What am I supposed to say to him, anyway?”

“You could just, I don’t know, _tell_ him-“

“I’ve had worse, and it’ll be fine,” Bilbo insisted to Kili. “Truly. I can’t imagine it getting any worse unless I walk all the way to Mordor again, which I’m not planning on doing.”

A dwarf quickly approaching made him step to the side to give him room, and his foot didn’t quite land right. The next thing he knew, his foot was bent under him, his ankle was snapping out to the right, and then there was just pain.

The pain. Oh Eru, Mahal, the _pain_. He remembered the pain when he’d first damaged it, all those years ago on the way to Mordor. It had been terrible and had only gotten worse the longer he’d walked on it. Through Gondor, up the sharp rocks of the mountain, through the hot rocks of Mordor, then the final run that had left him collapsing alongside Mount Doom. It had been pain the likes of which he’d never experienced before, his recovery taking months.

This was beyond all of that.

Someone had cut his leg open, he was certain, and had shoved steel blades into his very bones. The pain stung, it burned, like a hot poker being cracked again and again through his skin and muscle. It shot straight up his leg through his hips, his stomach and lungs and heart and into his throat, leaving him too hot and unable to breathe. His vision whited out, and he wasn’t even aware of hitting the floor. It was like a serrated blade sawing through his ankle bones, striking again and again, and he clutched at it in a vain attempt to make it _stop_. He only met skin, whole skin that was at odds with the unbearable pain.

It was too much. He couldn’t handle it. His body was on overload, the pain was everywhere and pressing in and spiking out and leaving him about to beg for unconsciousness if just to not feel it anymore. A high pitched sound, a desperate whine, left him between his clamped jaws. Futilely he clawed at his ankle, half massaging it, half tearing at it to just get to the source of his pain and make it stop.

Hands grabbed him and further put his senses on overload. Voices began to permeate through the storm of pain that covered his entire mind. Dernwyn’s voice, Dis’s voice, Legolas and Kili somewhere in there. Gloin, he thought he heard as well, and that was certainly Gimli’s boisterous tones demanding everyone step back to give him air.

He blinked, terrified at the sudden blindness, then realized his eyes just hadn’t been focusing properly, his body unable to cope with everything all at once. He felt as if he’d be sick if he didn’t move, he felt he’d be sick if he _did_ move, and when he finally managed to see again, he found himself propped up against the wall in the hallway. Dis was kneeling beside him while Dernwyn hovered protectively, shielding him from sight. Gimli and Gloin were both barking orders to get Oin as swiftly as possible, and then Kili was there, crouched beside him. His eyes were full of fear, but his face was full of determination.

“Can I get Uncle now, _please_?” Kili asked, eyes wide and mouth pursed with frustrated anger.

Thorin. Thorin Thorin _Thorin_. Not even able to give the word, the name of the one person he needed, Bilbo could only barely give a nod. But it was enough.

Kili was off like an arrow, flying down the hallway and quickly out of Bilbo’s sight, which was already greying out again. Oh blessed unconsciousness.

“Tell me what I can do,” he thought he heard Dis say. He tried to breathe in past the pain to answer her, but the fire was surging up his leg again, and everything thankfully blanked out for a bit.

When he came back to himself, he had the distinct feeling of being carried: moving back and forth in a swaying, walking manner, an arm wrapped tightly around his waist and another between his knees and ankles. His forehead was pressed against a neck he knew well, and when he opened his eyes, he could see Legolas walking swiftly beside them, holding his ankle as carefully as he could. The pain was a constant throb now, the relentlessness of it bringing hot tears to his eyes.

“He’s awake,” Legolas said, and the arms around him tightened.

“Hold on,” Thorin murmured, voice low but still full of barely restrained fear and worry. Bilbo tried to answer, to say something in reply, and all that came out was a whimper that was forced from his lungs. Thorin’s grip got impossibly tighter still.

“Here, here,” Dis was saying, and Bilbo could see her throwing open the door to their chambers. Thorin followed her in, and Dernwyn was there, quickly helping Dis pull back the sheets. Then it was just Bilbo and the bed, and the cool sheets were enough to bring fresh tears to his eyes, but tears of gratitude.

“Bilbo.”

Slowly he opened his eyes, unaware of having closed them. Dis was there, but Dernwyn and Legolas were gone, and it was Thorin above him, gently brushing hair and sweat and tears from Bilbo’s face. Thorin’s eyes were so open, not even hiding a single part of his emotions, his worry visible to all. “Bilbo,” he said hoarsely, as if he’d been calling for hours. “Bilbo, stay awake.”

He tried to find the strength to nod and found, thankfully, that he could. He swallowed, desperate for any liquid to wet his parched mouth. “Dis, water,” Thorin ordered, and Dis flew off somewhere beyond Bilbo’s vision.

“Where is he?” Oin said from the area of the door. “Let me see. What happened?”

Bilbo finally managed to find his voice. “My ankle,” he said, startled at how weak his voice was. “My-“

White hot pain flared from his ankle, shooting up through his leg and cramping his foot. He gave a cry and arched his back, trying to reach for his ankle, to make it _stop_. Someone, make it stop, make it stop, make it _stop_ -

It wasn’t until someone shushed him, as one would a frightened child, that he realized he was begging out loud for the pain to cease. The voice came in more clearly, familiar and all Bilbo ever wanted to hear. “-lbo, _Bilbo_ , it’s all right, it’s all right-“

“Hold him, gently,” Oin said from far away. “He gets a hold of his ankle, it’ll be the worse for wear. He’s got to keep it _still_.”

But the pain, the fire, Oin didn’t understand. It was everywhere, it was constant, and it was too much. Bilbo couldn’t handle it. It was just _too much_.

“Thorin,” he croaked, and he managed to catch a glimpse of Thorin – eyes wide and panicked, absolutely _wrecked_ – and then the black finally, mercifully, took over.

 

“Too much,” Oin said again. The healer’s eyes didn’t leave Bilbo’s still form, and they were dark with worry. “It’s too much. He aggravated it too much.”

“He didn’t do _anything_ ,” Kili insisted. From beside the fire, Thorin watched his youngest sister-son pace back and forth, all but tearing at his hair. “I was right behind him, we all were, he rolled on his ankle and that was all-“

“It was enough,” Oin insisted, but gently, more gently than Thorin had ever heard him say before. Healers were typically only gentle if they had bad news to impart, and Thorin found himself tensing, waiting for the blow.

There was a long pause as Oin fought to find the right words. “This will only get worse,” he finally said. “The pain, the ankle: every year it’s worse. He’s been wrappin’ it, I can see that-“

“Wait, what?” Dis said. Thorin’s eyes went straight to his husband, still too quiet and pale. “What do you mean, wrapping it?”

“That bandage-type thing that I took off? That wasn’t new. There’s marks in his skin,” Oin explained patiently. “He’d been wrapping it for some time. Keepin’ it tight, you see. To keep the ankle sturdy and minimize the pain.”

Bilbo hadn’t said a word to Thorin, to any of them, if their faces were any indication. Thorin felt his fingers dig into the wood of the chair he was seated on. His husband had been in pain all this time and he hadn’t said a word of it to Thorin. Probably hadn’t wanted to worry him, what with the Ered Luin trade routes being established.

Because not trying to worry Thorin always ended well. Look where they were now.

“This is merely a crazy happenstance,” Oin said. “Not often one re-injures a wound like this so badly. But the damage has been done, and there’s no going back now.”

Kili was still pacing, but his shoulders were hunched, a clear indication of guilt. Thorin’s stomach twisted. “You knew,” he said.

“I knew it had been bothering him lately,” Kili confessed. “He kept insisting if it got bad, he’d tell you, and it was _never_ this bad. He just said it ached a little from the cold, that was all. But I didn’t know that he’d been wrapping it. I swear, Uncle. If I’d known it was that bad, I would’ve told you.”

“You should have told me anyway,” Thorin began, anger flaring from his fear, but Dernwyn cut him off with a quick wave of her hand.

“Don’t do that. You know how stubborn Bilbo is. You _know_ he would’ve told Kili not to tell you, and what was Kili to do? Don’t take this out on Kili.”

Thorin gritted his teeth and turned back to Bilbo. There was still sweat on his brow – shock, Oin had said, even as they’d packed another blanket around him – and his hair was damp from it, emphasizing his curls even more. He was so still, so silent. It was almost worse than the jerks his body had made as he’d cried out and clutched at his ankle and begged for someone to make the pain stop.

Almost.

Dis rested her hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “You’re afraid,” she said quietly, and there was no reproach in her tone, only understanding. “We know that. We can handle your wrath. The only person Dernwyn is trying to protect is _you_. You’ll be furious with yourself later.”

He would, too. Already he could feel guilt curling in his gut at having lashed out at his youngest nephew. Before he could say anything close to an apology, however, Kili was giving him a quick grin. “As if you needed _more_ to brood about,” and he was forgiven, as easy as that.

“I do not _brood_ ,” he groused, but his spirits lifted just a little. He could see Dernwyn smiling warmly at him, hear Oin muttering about kings who were far too dour for their own good. He could all but hear Bilbo telling him to stop doing _that_ with his face, to smile for once and stop being such a rain-cloud.

It only made his spirits sink again.

“What do we need to do?” he asked, hating to kill the mood but needing to know. “What must I do to help Bilbo?”

Oin let out a heavy sigh. “You can’t,” he said quietly, and Thorin’s heart stopped. “There’s nothing that can be done.”

“Don’t be so defeatist,” Dis snapped. “There’s always _something_ -“

“No, I mean it,” Oin said. “This is only going to get worse as time goes on. Every winter, it’ll get more painful, and there’ll be a day where he won’t be able to walk on it at all. He’ll be crippled.”

Thorin tried to swallow past the lump in his throat but couldn’t manage it. “But-“

“We could keep his ankle wrapped warmly,” Kili said, almost desperately. “We could, we could keep him near a fire-“

“All things he’s been doin’ and they’ve done him no good. Once the cold sets in, it’ll set in deep,” Oin said in that same gentle voice that Thorin was beginning to hate. “It’s as I feared, many years ago: it’s a war injury. He injured it down to the bone. You can’t heal that right. Even Lord Elrond was afraid of this.”

The elves. “If we took him to Rivendell,” Thorin began, but Oin shook his head.

“You’d have to leave him there. This will be a constant thing from now on. It’s _been_ a constant, ever since he injured it. One doesn’t just walk into Mordor, do they? Well, he did, and he’s payin’ for it now.”

The quiet words were enough to silence the entire room. Kili looked devastated, and Dernwyn quietly wrapped her arm around him. Dis stayed by Thorin’s side, but her fingers were tight on his shoulder, not to comfort him but to hold on for her own sake. Thorin didn’t blame her. He almost wished he’d sent her away with Legolas and Gimli, to tell the others of what had happened, but he was also selfishly grateful that she was there with him.

“Will it be this bad, in the spring?” Dernwyn finally asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Would the warm weather help?”

“It would,” Oin said, sounding almost grateful to impart good news for once. “Once winter’s over and he’s healed from this, he’ll be walking fine enough. But come cold winter again, it’ll just be aggravated, and the cold will leave him in so much pain he won’t be able to use it. And without usin’ it, it’ll stiffen up until he _can’t_ use it. Then…well.”

Thorin didn’t need a ‘then’ to tell him what would happen. He’d seen enough battles to know that best case scenario, Bilbo would limp and bear a crutch for the rest of his life. Worst case scenario, he could lose the limb entirely.

The fire. The unbearably hot fire that Bilbo had built up in their room, and now he knew why. Bilbo _had_ been in pain, when he’d hit the floor, but not because Thorin had landed on him. No, because Bilbo’s ankle had probably given beneath him, and it had flared in pain.

“So the only way to keep him from pain is to keep him in spring and summer, all year round,” Kili said. “Right. Because _that_ happens out here.”

“Is Dale any warmer, during the winter?” Dernwyn asked, but Dis shook her head. “Could he visit Rivendell during the winter?”

“Then he’d be walkin’ on it, back and forth between Rivendell and Erebor, and risk making it worse that way,” Oin said. “No. That would hardly work either, and don’t think about puttin’ him in a cart to carry him.”

No, they’d never hear the end of it, that was for certain. But he could not continue this way.

And as Thorin stared at his husband, his beloved, his _world_ , his mind slowly began to pull together what had to be done.

 

The quiet, pained inhale was enough for Dwalin. He immediately moved over to the bed, pressing a careful hand to Bilbo’s shoulder as his friend slowly came back to awareness. “Easy,” Dwalin rumbled. “Don’t move it yet. Oin’s got it tightly wrapped.”

Bilbo’s ankle looked like an onion, so white and wrapped in a ball as it was. It was packed with herbs and balms, the miner’s hand salve and metal tins with hot coals. At first, Oin had been looking to bring in ice to help the swelling, but given Bilbo’s reaction to the cold, they’d decided instead on heat.

Dwalin was very grateful he’d missed the reaction. He’d seen Bilbo in pain enough for one lifetime.

Blearily Bilbo blinked his eyes open. “You’re in bed, restin’,” Dwalin assured him. “Your ankle gave.”

On instinct, Bilbo’s leg shifted under the furs, and the hobbit gave a low moan. “I said don’t _move_ it,” Dwalin snapped, but he helped Bilbo sit up. Bilbo began to reach for his ankle, then stopped, bringing his hands back to twitch and grasp at air.

“How bad is it?” he rasped. After ensuring he wasn’t going to fall over, Dwalin caught the mug and pitcher of water from beside the bed. He sounded awful, as awful as Thorin had looked when they’d shoved him from the room to get rest in someone else’s bed.

“Not so swift,” Dwalin admitted. He’d never lied to anyone before, and he didn’t intend to start now. Especially not now, when Bilbo was chugging down the water as if he’d been thirsty for days. “Oin says it’s the cold.”

Bilbo hummed around his mug, clearing his throat twice before looking down at his legs still covered by the blankets. “How’s it feelin’ now?” Dwalin asked.

“Better. Not as painful as before. But then again, getting my _eye_ gouged out would’ve been less painful, I have to assume.” Even as Dwalin winced at that mental image, Bilbo finished off the mug and handed it back. “Help me up, will you?”

Oh no. Oh _no_. “I will _not_ ,” Dwalin said. Bilbo glared at him. Dwalin glared back. “You’re not walkin’ on it.”

“Then get me my cane,” Bilbo insisted. “It’s over there in the corner.”

“It _should_ be in the wardrobe,” Dwalin said, still not budging. “That’s where it always is. Unless _someone’s_ been usin’ it without tellin’ us.”

“Oh for Eru’s…just _please_ get me my cane. Then you can help me.”

“You’re supposed to stay in _bed_. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“The part where I need to use the washroom in a very desperate manner.”

Oh. This was where Oin would’ve been more appreciated: healers were always better with things like this than Dwalin was. “You’re not walkin’,” he said again, but even before Bilbo could argue, he shifted to a crouched position. “Here, on my knee. It’ll make it easier to lift you.”

Between the both of them, they managed to get Bilbo out of bed without jostling his ankle. Once seated on Dwalin’s knee, it was easy to lift Bilbo into his arms and move him across the room. Every single step made Dwalin wince in anticipation of jarring the injury, but Bilbo didn’t so much as flinch as they made their way to the bathroom.

He was waiting outside the room when Thorin came in. Of _course_. “You could’ve gotten here a bit sooner,” Dwalin said, and Bilbo came hobbling out of the room before Thorin could reply. Bilbo sort of half froze in the door. Thorin’s gaze narrowed.

“You let him _out of bed_?”

“I had to _go_!” Bilbo said, glaring at him. “And now I’m going back to bed, because honestly, I’m a little tired,” and his face lost a little bit of color as his voice nearly trailed off.

The very admittance had Dwalin and Thorin hurrying to lift him and get him back in bed. Bilbo still looked pale, and he all but sank into the bed as soon as they got him there. “Don’t get out of bed,” Thorin ordered, but he immediately softened his words by catching Bilbo’s hand between both of his.

“I don’t plan on it,” Bilbo said with a yawn. “It’s starting to throb again. As long as it doesn’t hit the pain it did yesterday…” He shuddered, and he almost looked haunted. “Worse than it was in Mordor,” he said quietly.

That was more than Dwalin had ever wanted to hear. “I’ll get Oin,” he said. “Might be time for new coals.”

Thorin gave a half nod in his direction, already shifting to settle beside Bilbo on the bed. Dwalin carefully let himself out of the room, the door not even making a sound behind him. Once he was outside, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the wood.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. This was more than an injured ankle. This was a war wound, one that remained for years until it took a limb or a life. As minor as it had first been, the injury would continue to take its toll on both Bilbo and his strength until, like an illness, it would ravage his body and leave him too weak. They needed a remedy, they needed _something_.

“He all right?”

Dwalin shook his head at Nori’s quiet question. “Not really, no. Is Oin about?”

“With Holdred, in the main room. Think they were making up new salves and things for Bilbo.”

“Good. He’ll need them.” He let himself rest against the door for just a moment, just one long moment more, then extricated himself. “Let’s you and me find some more coals.”

“I can do that. Ori’s down in the library, by the way, tearing through old medicinal volumes.”

Maybe there would be something there. If anyone could find it, it’d be his Ori. “C’mon,” Dwalin said, and he led the way down the hall towards the main room, already planning his trip to the kitchen. Fresh coals, maybe some bread, too, for Bilbo. Something warm and full of comfort.

In the room behind him, Thorin was already curled around his husband, and both were resting soundly.


	3. Choices and changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected letter will bring about a stunning change that will alter the lives of all within Erebor forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this in honor of my dear friend Heyerette whose birthday is today! Hopefully these are happier feels, sweetie.
> 
> Um. I will actually advise for a tear-jerker warning on this chapter. It made me a bit misty writing it, so I'm going to offer the warning to y'all. Have some tissues, just in case.

It was a week later, and Bilbo was finally, slowly, _painfully_ , walking on his ankle again. Thorin had been adamantly against it, but Oin had said something about it stiffening without use, and Thorin had gone a bit pale before moving to help Bilbo stand. It had been easier than Bilbo had expected, but it had also taken longer than he’d thought it would, too.

The cane helped. No one had been thrilled by that knowledge, but after seventeen years, the cane was still solid and sturdy and helpful. Bilbo was fairly certain that Thorin was still regretting having ever crafted it, knowing what it was intended for, but it was one of the greatest gifts Bilbo had ever received, and it let him walk where he needed to. Even if it was very slowly at the moment.

“Your majesty!”

It wasn’t until Dril was almost to him that Bilbo realized he’d been calling for _him_. He was never going to get used to that, being a ‘majesty’. He stood still, resting himself on his cane, and waited for Dril to catch up with him. “You’re s’posed to be in your room,” Dril pointed out, panting.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Not today. I’m walking today, exercising the ankle a bit.” And sending tiny sparks of pain up his leg, but currently, he was all right. As long as he stood still, but no one needed to know that.

“Hril won’t like it either,” Dril warned him. “My cousin’s right fond of you, he is.”

“I’ll be all right,” Bilbo assured him. “Now what’s the matter?”

Dril quickly pulled a scroll out from his vest. “Just arrived for you this morning from a raven. Sent with highest importance, so I wanted to find you as swiftly as I could.”

Bilbo reached for it, but Dril caught him by the arm instead and guided him over towards the stone wall. “You’d read it better propped up,” the dwarf insisted. “Make it easier to not have to lean on your cane the whole while.”

Never had Bilbo been so grateful for his friend before, even as he gave him a heatless glare. “Thank you,” he said anyway, and Dril just grinned. Scroll in hand – and back firmly taking the weight off of his ankle – he began to unwind the message and read.

Not three lines in, he could feel the color draining from his face. By the fifth line, he wanted to be ill. By the end, he was clutching at his cane just to grab hold of something. He stared at it for a long moment, eyes catching only a few lines here and there.

… _sudden storm from the north…_

… _with great ceremony…_

… _has been returned to you…_

… _have been designated their legal guardian…_

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo slowly raised his head from the parchment. Dril was still there, staring at him worriedly. “You’re still here?” he managed to ask.

“Wasn’t leavin’ when I saw you go all white in the face,” Dril said firmly. “What’s wrong? What’s it say?”

It said so much, _so much_ , and even as his heart broke, he knew without a shadow of a doubt what he had to do. And it would break his heart to do it even more.

He swallowed hard. “My cousins,” he managed. “Something’s happened. I need to, need to speak with Thorin. He’s in a Council meeting, I think.”

Dril immediately straightened and offered his arm to Bilbo. “We’ll get there quicker, if you take my arm.”

Despite the terrible news in the letter, Bilbo gave him a wan smile. “Thank you,” he said. Dril had become such a good friend through the years, had stood by him through so much, and now, now Bilbo would have to...

Oh sweet Eru.

Together they hobbled their way through the hallways to the Council rooms. Dril caught one of the other guards by the arm and told him to bring the rest of the Royal family down to the Council chambers. Once they were there, Dril didn’t even hesitate to push the door open, startling the inhabitants inside. Thankfully, it seemed as if the Council had already been dismissed, and it was only Thorin, Fili, Dori, and Nadr who remained. They stared at Dril and Bilbo, Thorin’s eyes immediately going to him and apparently not liking what he saw.

Nadr was already moving to the door. “We’ll finish later,” he said. He gave Bilbo a friendly wave, then scooted around Dril. Dril, after making certain Bilbo was steady, stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

“What happened?” Thorin asked immediately.

“You look paler than the parchment in your hand,” Fili said, frowning at him. Thorin carefully caught Bilbo by the arm and moved him towards a seat, but Bilbo waved him off. He couldn’t do this sitting. He couldn’t.

He began to speak, but then the door opened, and Dis, Dernwyn, Kili, and Legolas were flying into the room. “The others aren’t far behind us,” Dis warned, and true to her word, Dwalin, Ori, Gimli, Tauriel, and Bifur were there, quickly filling the room.

“What’s going on?” Kili asked. His gaze shot from Thorin, who looked far too concerned, to Bilbo, who still didn’t feel steady on his feet. “Uncle?”

“What happened?” Thorin asked again, his voice lower this time. “Bilbo.”

Bilbo clutched at the parchment in his hand. He didn’t need to read it again. “Prim and Drogo…they drowned.”

Thorin’s eyes widened, and the only sound were the sharp intakes of breath. Bilbo couldn’t look at them and do this. He kept his focus on Thorin and plowed through. “There was a storm, and it swept down the river. They were out in that, that _infernal_ boat of hers, and they’d been fishing, but the storm caught them by surprise and they drowned.”

They’d been buried together, or so Esmeralda had said. The Brandybuck and Baggins families had been beside themselves.

“Bilbo-“

“They left their two children behind,” Bilbo continued, cutting Fili off. “I’ve been made guardian of them both. Bag-End is now in my possession once more.” He tried to steady his next breaths. It wasn’t working. “I-I have to go. To the Shire. And I don’t know when I’d be coming back.”

It _hurt_. Erebor had been his home for seventeen years, his family was _here_. But he couldn’t uproot Elodie and Frodo, the littlest one. He was nearing his fifth birthday, from what Esmeralda had told him. Bilbo had met him just five years ago, and he’d been so small, clinging to Prim with such love in his eyes…

His own eyes burned just thinking about it, and he wiped the back of his hand against them. “I couldn’t just make them leave,” he explained, when no one said anything. “I have to go. Esmeralda and Bofur have taken them in for the time being, but they can’t keep the both of them, not with Merry. And it wouldn’t be fair to Prim’s children, either, because they’d be loved, but not nearly as loved as Merry is. And I’ve been appointed legal guardian, so it doesn’t quite matter. I have to go.”

Silence descended on the room. Bilbo dared to glance at Dis and found her staring at him, stunned. He quickly turned his gaze back to Thorin.

Who was regarding him with a far too knowing look. “I know,” Thorin said quietly.

Bilbo blinked, now just as stunned as everyone else. “What…wait. Did you get the letter before I did?” he asked. “Did you just not tell me?”

“No, I didn’t know,” Thorin told him. “But you have to go to the Shire.”

He didn’t realize he was crumpling up the parchment in his hand until the edges began to bite into his skin. “What are you talkin’ about?” Dwalin asked, sounding bewildered.

“Your ankle,” Thorin began to explain. “You cannot stay in the mountain with the winters. Oin…he said the longer you’re here, the worse it will get. Until you cannot walk on it at all. You need warmth, you need sunshine-“

“After they’ve grown a bit, I’m bringing the children back to Erebor,” Bilbo said stubbornly, cutting Thorin off, because his husband could be dense sometimes but he couldn’t honestly be talking about what Bilbo thought he was talking about. “I’m not, Thorin, I’m not _staying_ in the Shire.”

“The Shire rarely has winter,” Thorin said. “You told me once yourself, and I have witnessed it firsthand. Even if it does see snow and cold, it isn’t nearly what it is here in the mountain. Your ankle cannot bear the cold any more, and I won’t see you suffer!”

“So what, you’ll just, just cast me out?” Bilbo shouted, his fists so tight they were shaking. “Send me away to the Shire forever? You’ll just…just _banish_ me from Erebor? _Again_?”

It was a low blow, one that made Thorin flinch but not pause. “I didn’t say you were going alone!” Thorin yelled. “I’m going with you!”

“You just told me that I’m not coming back to Erebor! So what, I’ll be the holiday retreat that you visit every now and then? Or when you need to examine the trade route with Ered Luin? Is that what you want?”

“I’m not coming back either!”

Bilbo stared, his fury and hurt disappearing in an instant, leaving him with a dropped jaw and a twisted stomach. “What?” he whispered when he could find the breath to do so.

Thorin swallowed but held firm. “ _We_ are going to the Shire,” he said quietly. “Oin said you could not stay in the mountain, and I will not see you come to further harm. So you will go to the Shire, and I will go with you.”

“You’re King,” Bilbo said, completely flummoxed. “You, you can’t just _leave_ your kingdom for the next who knows how many years, Thorin!”

In answer, Thorin merely raised his eyes. Bilbo whipped around and followed his gaze to Fili. Fili blanched and blinked rapidly. “You can’t be serious,” he gasped. “Uncle?”

“I am,” Thorin said. Then he took in a deep breath. “I abdicate. The throne is yours.”

One could have heard a pin drop in the stunned silence that followed. Bilbo spun back around so fast he thought he’d tumble. He knew his jaw was hanging open, and he couldn’t seem to pull in air, no matter how open his mouth was. Because Thorin couldn’t honestly be _serious_.

But he was. This wasn’t a spur of the moment thought. This was obviously something he’d been chewing over for some time. And he wasn’t wavering, he wasn’t backing down. Never before had he looked so much like a king, which was so full of irony Bilbo couldn’t even _begin_ to describe it. Regal and royal, and he was tossing the crown to Fili without any hesitation.

“Thorin, brother-mine,” Dis began, stunned, but Thorin shook his head.

“I have sat with this thought for many years. I have known what my choice would be, if ever I was given the choice to make in the first place. And I have not changed my decision.”

“Many years?” Kili managed. “What?”

Thorin finally met Bilbo’s gaze again. “When we had freed the Shire,” he said quietly. “You were resting before the celebrations. Do you remember? You had barely woken, and I realized, in that moment of peace, in that moment with you, that if Mahal had asked me to choose between you or the crown, I would’ve chosen you without hesitation. And I still would.”

It was more than Bilbo could handle. It was more than he could even begin to fathom, that he was worth a crown, a throne, a _kingdom_ that Thorin had fought to take back for nearly a hundred years. He had known that Thorin loved him, he’d been married to him for seventeen years. But it was always so different when it was shown. He was suddenly, helplessly, reminded of just two years ago, when Thorin had so easily given the Arkenstone away to save Bilbo. “Thorin,” he whispered, and he clapped his hand over his mouth, barely catching the sob that seemed to burst out of nowhere.

Thorin pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s, very briefly, but long enough to feel his warmth and the weight of his promise. If Bilbo went to the Shire, he would go with him. He would give it all up just to follow Bilbo.

Bilbo shut his eyes for a moment, just to steady himself. When he finally had his legs firm enough to hold him, he turned to where Thorin was already moving, towards Fili and Kili. Both of them looked as stunned as Bilbo had ever seen them, and there was a spreading panic in Fili’s eyes.

“Fili-“

“I can’t,” Fili confessed, shaking his head. “Uncle, I, I _can’t_. I don’t know how-“

“You ruled when I was healing after the Battle for Erebor,” Thorin pointed out. “You’ve been half ruling with your mother whenever I need you to.”

“Yes, but it was always with the assurance that you would come back to take the throne,” Fili said frantically. “This is permanent. This is _me_ as _K_ _ing_. What am I supposed to do?”

“Rule,” Dis finally said. She moved towards him and Dernwyn, who seemed to be realizing what her part would be in the new order, if her dropped jaw was any indication. “Both of you will. And I will be here to aid you, as will Kili. You will have no lack of advisors or supporters. Both of you would do just fine on the throne. Of this, I have no doubt.”

“Me neither,” Kili said after a moment. Fili glanced at him, almost pleading, and Kili stood all the taller for it. “You’ll do great. I know you will. This is what’s always been planned, right? You and me, together. We’ve just got good help to go with it. You can’t go wrong with Dernwyn, or Legolas, or Mother. So we’ll be all right.”

“They can’t leave until spring, anyway,” Ori said. “You’ll have some time to prepare for it.”

Fili took a deep breath, then another. Then he finally gave a tight nod and straightened his back. “All right. I hereby accept your abdication, and take on the crown and its duties to the kingdom and its people in your stead.” In that moment, he seemed as regal and powerful as Thorin did, tall and broad and strong. It seemed like a light came into his eyes, a light of wisdom, and Bilbo could just imagine him on the throne, Dernwyn, Kili, and Legolas beside him, ruling Erebor with peace and tranquility and kindness. It was a marvel to behold.

Then he paused and he suddenly dropped straight back into Fili, mischievous nephew with, currently, wide eyes filled with a hint of terror. “But you’ll stay for a bit, right? You won’t just hand me the throne and then leave?”

Bilbo couldn’t help his snort, and everyone in the room seemed to release tension all at the same time. “No, I won’t just ‘hand’ you anything,” Thorin promised dryly, but his eyebrows were raised, and that was definitely amusement on his face. “I promise. I’ll help guide you as best I can.”

Everyone sort of began milling about after that, speaking to Fili, Kili, or to Dis, or to Thorin, and Bilbo finally began unfolding the parchment he’d all but balled up in his hand. It was torn in a few places, a complete mess, and Bilbo winced when he looked at it. He’d need to send another raven to Esmeralda, if just to tell her that yes, he would be coming, yes, he would take Bag-End back, now that it was his again, and that there would be two of them coming to the Shire. There would be more than one dwarf residing in the Shire by next year.

A presence beside him made him pause from straightening the letter. Dwalin was there, looking tall and formidable, and then his face crumpled into sorrow. The next thing Bilbo knew, he was in the dwarf’s embrace, being held tightly. “Ah, laddie,” he murmured wetly, and Bilbo clung back to him.

The absolute hardest part about leaving would be this: to leave his kin behind. Dwalin had become more than a friend, he’d become a brother, and to not have him beside them would be almost unbearable. Never mind that Kili and Fili would be remaining here, as would Tauriel and Gimli, Legolas, Dril, Dis, Ori, Bombur and Bifur, Gloin and Oin and Nori and Dori and…

He sniffled and pulled back, wiping at his eyes. “Stop it,” he ordered, still sniffling. “If you start, _I’ll_ start, and I’m not even leaving yet.”

Leaving. He was leaving. And most likely, he wasn’t coming back.

He glanced at Thorin and found him speaking with Fili and Kili in low tones, smiling proudly at the both of them. Dis was beside him, tears in her eyes, her arms wrapped around Dernwyn and Legolas both. This was Thorin’s legacy, his children for all intents and purposes, and he was leaving all of his blood kin behind to follow Bilbo across Middle-Earth.

“Don’t,” Dwalin said lowly, and Bilbo turned back to him. The dwarf shook his head and tapped his fingers beneath Bilbo’s chin. “Don’t you do that. I can see it on your face, plain as day. He made his choice before you even brought it forward. He made his choice seven years ago. And when Thorin makes up his mind, he holds true to it. You should know that by now.”

“It’s not fair, though,” Bilbo said softly. “He has to leave them behind because I have to go. That’s not right.”

“The Shire was your only home and you gave it up to follow him,” Dwalin pointed out. “Think it’s time you share your home with him.”

It wasn’t as much a leaving as a returning, in that light. He could show Thorin everything he’d wanted to show him, everything he’d wanted to give Thorin, but had never been able to the three times they’d been there. The last time, he’d been recovering from the whole kidnapping debacle, and though they’d had the time, Bilbo had mostly stayed in Bag-End, and Thorin with him.

But if the Shire was home, then Thorin could wander the fields with him, up to his favorite grove of trees, traipse across all the paths, go fishing by the river-

The river that had claimed Primula and Drogo. And had left Elodie and Frodo alone, forever. Not if Bilbo had anything to say about it.

Seized by a new resolve, Bilbo gave a brisk nod, and Dwalin gave a smirk. “That’s more like it,” he said. “And we’ll descend on you more often than you’ll like, you know. We might even decide the Shire should be our home and leave Erebor, once we’ve retired from our positions here-“

“Oh _Mahal_ no,” Bilbo said fervently, and Dwalin threw his head back and laughed. It was good to hear.

And it pushed the other thoughts away for a short time, as Dwalin cheerfully told everyone that their new future would be in the Shire, even as Bilbo futilely tried to tell them no.

 

“You don’t have to, you know.”

Thorin didn’t bother turning around. He knew what Bilbo meant. “Do you know where my traveling coat is?” he asked instead, putting more things he needed into the small sack on the table. His fancier combs, his beads, they were already in there, but for the life of him, he couldn’t find the mithril coated brush that had been his mother’s.

“It’s in the back of the wardro- look. You don’t have to come with me. You don’t have to give up the throne.”

Ah, there it was. Nestled behind the small mirror. He placed it inside next to his other combs, then set about rummaging in the drawers for his hair oils. And honestly, he didn’t truly need any of this – he hadn’t had any on the way to Erebor or any of their other journeys – but it gave him something to do besides turn around to Bilbo, who’d been fussing and poking at him for the past fifteen minutes.

“Thorin-“

That was a tone that wasn’t going to be ignored, and Thorin abruptly spun around. “Would you have me leave you?” he asked. “Would you have me let you go, to have you live out your life alone in the Shire while I rule here, months of traveling time between you and I?”

Bilbo bit his lip. “You know I don’t want any of that,” he said. “But I don’t want you to give up everything for me, either! These are your blood kin, _my_ kin!”

“What would you have me do?” Thorin asked, more patiently now. Now that he knew what the true problem was, at least. “What can I do, Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s eyes darted quickly to his ankle before turning back up to Thorin, but Thorin began shaking his head. “No. Even if you were to simply visit the Shire and bring Elodie and little Frodo back with you, you could not remain here. Erebor is no longer a refuge for you, it is a place of pain. I will not see you suffer, not when I can do something to help. Even if it goes back to being as little of a fuss as it had been before you injured it again-” and that was something they’d spoken of in _great_ length, once Bilbo had been more awake, “-you will still be in pain. And I refuse to let it happen.”

“But this is your home,” Bilbo said miserably. He fiddled with the top of the cane in his grasp, then finally set it aside, leaning back further into his chair with a sigh.

After a moment, Thorin set down the items in his hands and crossed the room to kneel in front of his husband. “My kin are my home,” he said quietly. “But above all, _you_ are my home. I have had many different places where I have laid my head at night. Yet I would climb into a cave and call it home if you were there.”

Bilbo made a face before brushing hair back from Thorin’s face. His fingers still felt a little on the chilled side, a reminder that though spring was coming soon enough, it was still cold inside the mountain, and even now he had to be in pain.

“Bag-End isn’t a cave,” he said before Thorin could ask how much pain he was in. “It’s a lovely hobbit-hole. And that means comfort.”

Thorin smiled. “Then I will dwell in a hobbit-hole in comfort. So long as you are there, I care little for where I am. Just that wherever I am, I have to be with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo said abruptly, startling Thorin. Bilbo’s cheeks went a little red. “For what I said, when you tried to tell me you were coming along. I shouldn’t have said that, it was horrid of me, and I didn’t even honestly feel that way, I truly didn’t-“

Being banished again. The words had stung, deep and sharp for just a moment, and then Thorin had looked into his husband’s eyes and seen them for what they were: a mask to cover the fear. The fear of losing Thorin. “I know you didn’t,” Thorin promised. “I know. You do not owe me an apology. You never do.”

“That rule was made a _very_ long time ago,” Bilbo said. He raised his eyebrows. “When you and I were on an uneven footing, trying to find our way and each other. You don’t have to keep telling me that I won’t owe you an apology. Because here, in this instance, I most certainly do.”

He remembered. Years and years ago, watching Bilbo’s misery as he’d tried to offer apologies for wrongs he hadn’t done, the hurts he’d felt, if just for Thorin to forgive him. As if _Thorin_ had been the one wronged. He’d heard it so often that he’d finally begged Bilbo to never say those apologetic words again, to never say ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Forgive me’. “I would still rather not hear them from you,” Thorin said softly. “No matter how deserved they may be. One look at your face and I would know them, regardless. Even when you brought up the banishment, I could see the regret in your eyes the instant you spoke of it. No, beloved. I do not need, and would prefer to never hear, an apology from you.”

Bilbo huffed, but his eyes shone. “Insufferable dwarf,” he muttered, and Thorin grinned.

“Stubborn hobbit. One who’s been walking on his ankle too much.”

“You fuss too much.”

“You give me good reason to. I asked Gimli to craft-“

“ _No_ , not the bells again, I _refuse_. You got them into my hair once, and I thought Merry was going to pull all of my hairs out!”

“I wasn’t the one who put them into your hair, if I recall,” Thorin said, and that was definitely a red hue in Bilbo’s cheeks now. “If I recall correctly-“

“Yes, yes, well,” Bilbo said, then promptly cleared his throat. Thorin couldn’t help the small laugh at his husband. Seventeen years, and Bilbo was still the only one who could wring a smile or a laugh out of him when he least thought it possible. Bilbo was the only one whom he ever wanted to smile at. And if he could pull a smile from Bilbo, well, then he was a happy dwarf indeed.

His husband, happy and healthy, that was all he wanted. It was truly such a small thing, but it had apparently come with a large price. One he would pay over and over again, if just to have Bilbo beside him.

“Why _are_ you packing? We’re not leaving for at least another two months.”

“Dwalin is heading the caravan to the Blue Mountains, along with Bifur, and he offered to take a few of our things ahead of us so we would have things waiting for us.” Actually, the full intent had been to keep Bilbo from carrying more, and to keep the small wagon open enough that Bilbo could sit with plenty of room. The less his husband knew about that, however, the better.

“I thought you were going with them?”

“I don’t need to. I’m leaving it in capable hands.”

“Ah. Nadr and Gloin, I’m assuming? And most likely Valdr?”

“Most likely Valdr,” Thorin agreed. “Ered Luin’s rediscovered ore has convinced Nadr that he should take his son along. The forests and sea would also make for great wealth that we cannot reach here. Nadr hopes to finalize and establish the trade route once and for all. The path would take them through Moria and the Greenwood. Fili and I have agreed that Valdr should go with him: he has a good mind for business.” A few of the settlements in the Blue Mountains had welcomed Thorin and those from Erebor after Smaug: it would be good to finally give them a safe way to trade and give them wealth in return for their kindness. Even if the ‘upper crust’, as Bilbo was fond of saying, had given them trouble before giving in so easily it was almost hard to believe. But it was finally happening.

He found Bilbo gazing at him, looking pensive. “What?” Thorin asked, sounding a bit defensive even to his own ears. But he knew that face, and it usually heralded Bilbo thinking very foolish thoughts.

Sure enough, Bilbo began to say, “Thorin, you were meant to be a king. This is what drives you. I don’t want to take-“

Thorin caught Bilbo behind the back of his head and with one hand hauled him in. His lips all but slammed against Bilbo’s, and there was a tension, a surprised pause. Then Bilbo all but melted against him, and his lips were warm and pliant. Thorin took his chance and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s again and again, short kisses that still stole the air from his lungs. His fingers wrapped themselves in Bilbo’s curls, and he was fairly certain that Bilbo had a hold of his braids, but he didn’t care.

With one last nip at Bilbo’s lip, Thorin parted, enjoying the view of Bilbo dazedly blinking his eyes. “We’re in agreement?” Thorin said, a little breathlessly. “Good. Whatever of yours you can do without until we reach the Shire, I can take to Dwalin and Bifur.”

Unfortunately for Thorin, he’d married a clever one, and Bilbo recovered far quicker than he would’ve liked. “Are you _certain_ -“

“I’m going with you,” Thorin said quietly. “I want to see the green hills of the Shire when I wake beside you in the morning. I want to watch you garden outside of Bag-End. I want to go with you to the place where your parents rest, so we might visit them and lay flowers with them. I want to sit at the dining room table and listen to you fuss in the kitchen because you refuse to let me in, telling me I’m awful at baking.” And he did. He wanted it, _yearned_ for it.

“You _are_ awful at baking,” Bilbo said, his voice a little choked. “I’ll bring you tea while you wait, from the herbs in Hamfast’s garden. We’ll let Frodo and Elodie run wild.”

The tragedy of losing one’s parents was one Thorin would have spared any child, let alone Elodie and Frodo. But Mahal help him, he would be their uncle, their caregiver, with every breath in his body. He could see Bilbo doing the same: kissing scrapes and bruises much as he did to Holdred and Hildili, telling them not to ruin their supper but leaving the biscuit jar in an easily accessible place, reading to them every night. He could see it so suddenly, so vividly, could imagine curling up beside them all on the big bed in Bilbo’s room, that he felt himself almost lurch forward in the urge to just _be_ there, to have the small, quiet life in Bag-End.

He’d desired to be a king for so long, to reunite his people and bring them peace, to give them back their home, to do proudly by his father and kin. And he’d done it, and he’d done it without qualms. But now?

Now he could see himself in rolling green hills, friendly waves and choruses of greetings being sent his way, little children racing after him with laughter and cries for stories. Bilbo in the doorway, one ankle crossed neatly over the other, smiling broadly at him. Waiting for him.

It was all he wanted, now. He’d fought and battled for his people, for his kingdom, more than any other monarch before him. He’d had more confrontations and wars in the past seventeen years than most other kings in all of history. He was more than all right giving up the throne. He had what he wanted. Kin who were happy in the mountain. Erebor, restored to her glory, trading peacefully with the nearby kingdoms. Allies whom the kingdom could call upon in times of danger. Even a once-thought impossible trade route was now going to benefit a plethora of dwarves, spanning nearly all the way across the earth. He had all these things.

And a husband whom he loved, whom he had fought to have, had followed all the way across Middle-Earth for. A husband he would follow once more, to save him again. He had found a happy ending after their first journey, after Mordor. He hoped they would find one again.

“Yes,” he said, his throat clogged with emotion. “We will.” And because Bilbo was looking at him funny, brow bent in worry, Thorin moved to kiss him again.

Packing was forgotten, for a time.

 

“Kili?”

Kili said nothing. Legolas slowly stepped out onto the ledge a little more. His husband’s fingers were currently scooping away snow from the littlest of plants and tying once more the plant cover from where it had come loose. The wind was playing gently with his hair, and it would have been a perfect moment, a vision to remember forever, had it not been for the deep furrowed brow or the pinched lips.

“Kili?” he called again softly. Kili still said nothing, but his shoulders tensed a little more.

It was not hard to figure out the reason. Over the past week, the mountain had been in a constant state of murmuring over the abdication of the king. Tauriel, Nori, and Legolas had quietly moved about the people, listening for any foul intentions directed towards the royal family. It would have been the perfect time to strike, if any.

But all they had heard had been kindness and well wishes for the king and his beloved, and good fortune to bestow upon his heir. No one doubted Fili’s ability to rule, and everyone was just as concerned about Bilbo’s health as the royal family was. It had been a relief, and Legolas’s heart had been content at the words he had heard and later shared.

Yet for all of the glad tidings around the mountain, the royal chambers had been filled with very mixed emotions. And, more often than not, Kili had disappeared.

It had been Hildili who had whispered into Legolas’s ear where his dwarf had gone. “He’s sad,” she’d told him dutifully. “He makes the same face Holdred does when he’s mad at himself. So he goes to Unca’s garden.”

It was indeed the same face Holdred wore when he was upset. Except Kili could not be given a biscuit to help soothe him. Though Legolas would not be above trying, if it were to put a smile back on his husband’s face.

He knelt beside Kili in the snow and waited. Eventually Kili’s shoulders began to drop, and Legolas took it as a sign to move closer. He rested a hand between Kili’s shoulder blades. “It is not your fault,” he said softly.

“If I’d told Uncle sooner, then maybe Bilbo wouldn’t have rolled on it,” Kili said immediately, as if the words had been resting on his tongue, just waiting to be released. “Maybe Oin could have done something. Maybe-“

“This is damage done from over seventeen years ago,” Legolas gently reminded him. “There is nothing that can be done. If it was not this year, then it would have been next year. Eventually his ankle would have given out. It is almost better that it happened now, when he can still heal from this small incident. He will still walk. He will be fine.”

Kili swallowed hard. “But they’re leaving,” he said in a small voice, and Legolas sucked in a deep breath. “And if I’d said something, maybe, maybe-“

“My heart,” he murmured, and Kili went when Legolas tugged, sinking his face into the crook of Legolas’s shoulder. This was something Legolas could not heal, no more than he could heal Bilbo’s injury. This was something only time would soften.

“I feel like a child,” Kili stuttered. “But I, I don’t want them to go, Legolas. There’ll be two months of travel between us at best. And Uncle’s always been there. He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had and Bilbo’s always been my friend and my uncle too. I don’t want them to _go_.”

There was no answer. Nothing Legolas could do to help his husband. He did the only thing he could do and held his husband in his arms, whispering endearments in his ear and pressing soft kisses in his hair that landed like snow.

The air began to burn in Legolas’s lungs, a testament to the cold. Carefully he stood, Kili still tucked against him. “I will bring you somewhere warmer,” he said quietly. Somewhere that he could place Kili in front of a fire and curl around him. Somewhere he could wind his fingers through Kili’s hair and leave braid after braid of intention, of devotion, of promise.

“Am I being foolish?”

Legolas paused. Kili was gazing up at him, eyes slightly red. “Parents are meant to be left behind, one day,” he continued. “But am I foolish to want them to stay?”

He thought of his own father, long gone over the sea. His mother was a memory, but he remembered sunlight and green grass and a gentle laugh. “No,” Legolas said softly. “No it isn’t. And they will not be gone forever. You and I will see them many times.”

“They’ll be two months away,” Kili protested.

“They will be _only_ two months away. More than enough time to allow us many visits.”

Kili gazed at him for a long moment, then slowly began to smile. His happiness was tinged with sadness, and when he pressed a kiss to Legolas’s lips, it was gentle and tasted of sorrow. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I’m so glad you’re staying.”

“I will never leave,” Legolas promised. No, he had made his choice, and he would stay through to the end. He would never leave his husband, his heart.

Around them, the snow continued to fall.

 

It was a curious state that Dernwyn walked in on. Holdred studying his text, Hildili playing with Baldrin, Baldrin chewing quite contentedly on Hildili’s old dragon. All of them were engrossed in their own worlds.

In the middle of the room, right in front of the large mirror, stood Fili. His chest was puffed out, almost absurdly so, and he was speaking directly to himself.

“…a matter of state, then I encourage you to bring it to me…no, bring it _before_ me, and I will…I will…do it.”

Fili cursed under his breath. None of the children seemed to be listening, and Dernwyn slowly leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. Holdred glanced up at her, and she gave him a quick wink. With a grin he glanced once at Fili before returning to his book.

“I will bring it up with the Council and see that it is done. Unless it’s only a small matter of opinion in which case I will see it taken note of. And then sent to the Council, where they will take note of it.” Fili gave a swift nod and a quick smile to his reflection.

The next minute, he was dropping his shoulders and sighing. “And then we’re all going to ignore it, so best save your breath,” he muttered. He dug his hands into his hair and started twisting, and that was Dernwyn’s sign.

He didn’t notice her moving across the room until she was right beside him, carefully detaching his fingers from his hair. “Having fun?” she asked. Fili, being the responsible parent who demonstrated mature behavior for his children, stuck out his tongue at her. A chorus of giggles erupted from behind them. It at least succeeded in making Fili’s lips turn up into a grin.

Dernwyn heaved a put-upon sigh, but she could feel her lips turning up. “I can think of other things much more fun,” she said, glancing sideways at the children. “I think a _bath_ would be wonderful.”

“Ew!” Hildili said, hurrying for the door to her own room, Baldrin right behind her. Even though he wasn’t quite six yet, he was already adamant about a great many things, and he was very much a typical male dwarf: baths were bad. But get him into the water, and he’d never come out.

Holdred shut his book, finger carefully placed between the pages where he’d last been. “If you wanted us to leave, you could have just said so,” he said dryly. He was sounding more grown up with every day that passed, and, unfortunately, with it came his sarcasm. Dernwyn was going to blame Fili’s side for that.

“If you’re volunteering for a bath, then,” Fili began, taking a step towards him, and Holdred abandoned being more mature in favor of dashing for Hildili’s bedroom, where his siblings were waiting. They shut the door behind him, all three of them giggling again.

Fili gazed after them in fond amusement. Now that she had him all to herself, Dernwyn could do what she’d wanted to do in the first place: press a kiss to his furrowed brow. “Stop it,” she murmured.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ll be fine. They’re not looking for someone mighty and clever-“

“Why _thank_ you, that does wonders for my self-esteem, truly.”

“-they’re looking for a good dwarf, one who knows his people, who listens to them, who will fight for them in word and deed.” Her fingers brushed hair back and away from his disgruntled face that was quickly twisting into worry again. “They don’t need ‘clever’, someone who can think of a million reasons to not do something. And they don’t need ‘mighty’, someone who will do everything for himself. They need a good dwarf. They need _you_.”

Fili glanced back at the mirror, and Dernwyn turned to see the both of them, standing tall together, side by side. She didn’t look that much older, now that she really let herself look. Perhaps a bit more aged around the eyes, no longer the young maiden she’d been. A sign of her ancestry.

“They need you, too.”

She’d been afraid he would say that. “Everything I’ve learned about politics and royal doings through my life never prepared me for being queen,” she said. “This is…this is something I know nothing about. You, you were raised with this promise, but-“

“You just got through telling me they need someone like me,” he said. “And they need someone like you. Someone kind, someone firm, someone willing to do battle. That’s who you are. That’s what they need.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. “And you know what? Never mind Erebor. Because _I_ need you. More than ever before. I can’t…Dernwyn, I can’t do this alone.”

She caught his hands between them both, squeezing them tight. He looked more fearful than she’d seen in many years. “You’ll do it, and you’ll do it well,” she said. “And I’ll be right beside you the entire way.”

It left _her_ quaking in fear, at the thought of taking the throne beside Fili. She would no longer be a Princess, a meager title that had afforded her a great deal of freedom over the years, but a Queen. One whose actions would be held accountable to the rest of the world.

It was daunting, to say the very least. But she could do it. If she had Fili by her side, she could do it.

“Thorin told me he’s coming with us,” Fili said quietly. “He and Bilbo both decided to travel with us towards the Blue Mountains, instead of having us go ahead and deliver some of their things to the Shire.”

“You mean Bilbo found out that you were trying to spare him from carrying things,” Dernwyn said, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean Bilbo found out we were trying to spare him from carrying things, yes. And it went over just as well as you obviously think it did.”

Which was to say, not at all. “It _will_ be safer,” Dernwyn said. “And you’ll have a chance to ask more questions of Thorin, though you don’t need them. You will do just fine in the Blue Mountains. Dis said you grew up there. You know the dwarves, you know what they’re looking for. Thorin has every faith in you, and so does every dwarf in this mountain. And so do I.”

Fili grinned, looking every inch the dwarf she’d married nearly seventeen years ago, and it made her lean in towards him, smiling like the young maiden she’d once been. Her husband, her _king_.

“Are you done being kissy now?”

Dernwyn glanced over at the side door, where Lili was standing, her little head peeking through. “Because Baldrin’s hungry, and none of us want to see that yicky stuff.”

“She gets this from your side,” Dernwyn said before Fili could say a word. She’d never thought seeing romance between her parents or Thengel and Morwen was ‘yicky’, and where on earth had she picked up that word?

“’Yicky’?” Fili asked incredulously.

“That’s what Mister Dwalin calls it,” Hildili said promptly. “A couple of the other guards agree.”

Dernwyn was going to have words with the Guard. Again. Because for someone at thirteen years of age, Lili was still fond of parroting. And it was most certainly _not_ helping her. At all.

“No, not done,” Fili said, and suddenly Dernwyn found herself being bent under Fili, his hand supporting her back, lips pressed against hers. Hildili began giggling before the door was shut once more, and Dernwyn caught Fili’s tunic and only pulled him in closer. The children were secure in their room, and she had Fili to herself for the afternoon.

If she got a chance to kiss her king, well. She wasn’t going to miss it.

 

There came a day, in the spring, when a caravan was arranged in front of Erebor. The Captain of the Guard stood at the ready, with several of his Guard beside him. Already in their traveling carts, several of the Council members, including Nadr, son of Nidr, and his own son, Valdr, were seated and ready to go. All of them were saying their final farewells to kin and friends, for the journey would take some time, and negotiations further still.

And, in their own cart, with the hardest of farewells, was the current King of Erebor, his two uncles, and his brother.

In the end, it had been decided that Thorin Oakenshield, now a former king, would travel with the caravan as far as Rivendell. From there the caravan would turn south, and the once king would continue on to the west with his Beloved, the once Ringbearer.

Though it was determined that Fili the King would return to Erebor, with Kili his loyal Advisor, it was not so determined that Thorin and Bilbo would do the same. In fact, it was quite determined that they would not be returning to Erebor for many a year, if ever.

Farewells took some time, for all of Erebor wanted to turn out for their former King who had returned their mountain to them. And all of Erebor insisted upon being there to wish his husband well, for he had become the Heart of the Mountain, brighter and fairer and better than any stone.

Once farewells were finished, and tears were shed, the King of Dale himself came forward to offer them a formal escort through his city to the safe path of the Greenwood. There, Legolas, Heir of Greenwood, would lead them, with his loyal friends, Tauriel, and Gimli, son of Gloin. There was a chance that they, too, were planning on traveling with the caravan (though this was not something that the caravan would discover until they had left the Greenwood).

So it was that Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield departed from Erebor, gazing at kin and friends, company and Guard, until the mountain was a distant fixture, rising high into the sky.

And if tears were shed, they were done so silently and with each other’s company. Then tears were wiped away and their sorrow shrugged off. Hands twined together, making new promises. _Together, forever, you and I._


	4. A prelude to a new life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin arrive in the Shire to reunite with old friends, comfort their new wards, and start a new chapter of their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to Abrza who is about to be snowed in and thus needs reading materials. All for you darling! *smooches*
> 
> This is NOT the last story in the 'verse. I have others beyond this one and at least one before it. So. Not the end. But we're getting there, slowly but surely. I promise that you will know when it's the last story in the 'verse.
> 
> Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!

The Shire’s sky was just blooming into an evening shade of red and purple when they rode into Hobbiton. Thorin had insisted on taking a horse – Bilbo could walk, thank you _very_ much – and from their height, the land was beautiful, just as beautiful as he’d left it. He could all but hear the wind whistling through the trees, the singing of birds that were sure to be making nests in the most inconvenient of places, the laughter of children running down the main paths of Hobbiton.

It made him remember the two children who were, currently, with Esmeralda and Bofur.

During the week they’d stayed at Rivendell, half to rest, half to reunite with old friends, Bilbo had sent off a letter, telling the two of their coming, and that he would meet them at Bag-End. Better for Elodie and Frodo to be on familiar ground. He hoped it would bring them comfort.

Elrond had examined his ankle, at Thorin’s quiet pleading, but had finally sighed and given Bilbo a knowing look. “It is nothing I can heal,” he had said, much to Thorin’s obvious dismay. “It is a war wound, an old injury that time will take its toll on. There are things to help ease its pain, but as the years go on, so, too, will the wound.”

He’d given them herbs, and he’d given them one of his horses, to better bear them to the Shire. And now, a scant couple of leisurely ridden weeks later, they were here, riding into the Shire.

It was late afternoon, nearly evening, and already it smelled like summer. Bilbo’s fingers tightened in the reins at how _good_ the thought was. Summer, warmth. Here, in the Shire, in Bag-End.

With Thorin. Here, forever, with _Thorin_.

They rode up to Bag-End, the horse settling easily enough at Bilbo’s touch. Thorin insisted on helping Bilbo down, though his ankle hadn’t ached in over a month, once they’d crossed over the mountains. Then it was just a matter of stepping inside.

The house was quiet when they entered, and Bilbo tapped on the door three times even as he let himself in. “Esse? Bofur?” he called. He could’ve sworn he’d seen smoke drifting up from the kitchen chimney.

Then a familiar little face appeared from a room down the hall, dark wavy hair waving about her face, and Bilbo felt his chest tighten. “Elodie,” he called. “Elodie, it’s me, your Uncle Bilbo.”

She was down the hall in a flash, flying into his open arms, clinging to him with everything she had. “Oh Elodie, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair. She was trembling, fingers so tight he was certain she’d leave bruises. But right now, making certain she was all right was his first priority.

“You two made good time,” and Bilbo raised his head enough to see Bofur come down the hall. It was so good to see him, after five years apart, and when he grinned, Bilbo couldn’t help but return it.

“Fili was eager to get to the Blue Mountains. His pace was encouraged by the Council members, who were tired of the journey by the time we reached the _Misty_ Mountains.” Thorin’s dry tone reminded Elodie that someone else had come through the door, and she quickly moved over and slammed into Thorin’s legs, clutching tightly. Thorin blinked, surprised at first, but recovered swiftly enough to lift Elodie into his arms. She wrapped around him, burying her face into his shoulder.

It reminded Bilbo of the startling difference between their last venture, just five years ago, when they’d come into Bag-End. Elodie hadn’t been the tiniest bit shy, after seeing Primula and Drogo enthusiastically embrace Bilbo and Thorin, and she’d all but leapt into Thorin’s arms, giggling and demanding to be swung around. Baby Frodo had been babbling, reaching for Bilbo with pudgy little hands and a bright, toothless grin.

Even with the sunlight, Bag-End seemed so empty and lifeless, and Elodie still refused to let Thorin go. Thorin just kept his arms wrapped tightly to ensure she didn’t fall, one hand gently running over her hair while he murmured things in her ear.

Bilbo bit his lip before turning back to Bofur. “Should I even ask about…the other one?” he asked quietly.

“Esse’s got him,” Bofur said, then nodded towards Elodie. “She’s actually been all right, mostly. Still has a few days where things sort of go lopsided. She’s been waitin’ for you two to get here, though. Countin’ the days ever since your last letter from Rivendell.”

Elodie pulled her face away from Thorin at that. “Did you see elves?” she whispered. “Did you?”

“We did,” Thorin told her. “Plenty of them.”

She looked entranced by the idea, which Bilbo took as a good sign. It had been several months since Prim and Drogo had drowned. And Bilbo knew far too well that time did eventually dull old hurts and heal certain wounds. Never completely: there would always be a scar on Elodie’s heart where her parents had been.

“Ellie,” Esmeralda called from further down the hall, and Elodie was quickly set down in order to find her. Bilbo blinked, wondering if she’d been that tall when she’d run into his arms not moments ago.

“She’s taller,” Thorin said, confirming his thoughts. “I don’t remember her being that tall.”

“She’s seventeen,” Bofur pointed out. “Over halfway to her comin’ of age. ‘Course she’s taller.”

Growing up. She was scant years away from how old Bilbo had been when he’d lost his parents. His heart pounded fiercely in memory of past pain, then subsided. He could only hope that Elodie and Frodo would feel the same, in later years.

Now that he had the chance, Bilbo quickly embraced his friend, chuckling when Bofur picked him up just a little. “I’m glad to see you,” he said.

Bofur winked. “Happy to see the both of you, you’ve no idea.” He gave a quick bow to Thorin. “Your majesty,” he said with a quick grin, the same as he always did.

“It’s just Thorin,” Thorin told him.

“Oh, I know that. It’s my joke, let me have it.”

“Not really a joke anymore, actually,” Bilbo said hesitantly, and Bofur stopped. He glanced at Bilbo, then at Thorin, then back and forth once more.

“No,” he breathed, eyes wide. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Thorin said quietly, and he still looked so sure of himself, so absolutely sure that he was doing the right thing, that Bilbo was left shaking his head once more. The sheer _irony_ that he looked so much like a king when he no longer held a crown was astounding. “I told you that Fili had gone on to the Blue Mountains.”

“Yeah, but I thought it was more to get his toes wet, just a bit,” Bofur said, still staring in shock. “I didn’t think you meant that it was because he’s _King_!”

“He’s _what_?”

Esmeralda’s eyes were as big as Bofur’s as she came hurrying down the hall. She glanced from Thorin to Bilbo. “Fili’s the king?” she said, sounding and appearing absolutely gob-smacked.

“Fili is King,” Thorin explained patiently. “And I have abdicated.”

She continued to stare, only shaking herself to come forward closer to them. “And you’re happy with that,” she asked, but it was more of a question, less of a statement.

Thorin glanced at Bilbo, warmth in his eyes, enough that Bilbo felt himself heating under the gaze. Slowly his lips turned up. “I am,” he said, never once looking away from Bilbo. And he was: Bilbo could see it in everything he did. Thorin was honestly happy and content with his choice. It was perhaps the greatest compliment Bilbo had ever been bestowed before, that he was worth a mountain and a kingdom and a _crown_. That he was worth more to Thorin than anything of those other things.

It left his cheeks flushing and his heart pounding. Fifteen years, and Thorin could still stun him with the depth of his love.

Thorin was sort of forced to break his gaze when Bofur nearly tackled him. “Good for you, laddie,” Bofur praised. “Oh, good for you.”

Esmeralda quickly embraced Bilbo, bouncing just a little, before moving on to Thorin. “So you’re not going back to the mountain,” she said. Thorin shook his head. “Then Bag-End is yours, too.”

“It is,” Bilbo said, when Thorin looked a little bewildered. “You married me. That means Bag-End belongs to you as much as it does to me.”

Thorin blinked, seemingly taking that in, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him prior to right then and there. Perhaps it hadn’t.

Esmeralda grinned, bright and wide. “And I’ll finally get to see the both of you whenever I want. As neighbors! You’ll be right down the road, and Bilbo, Hamfast is going to want to speak with you, as is Lobelia, they were both thrilled to hear that you were coming, and now to know that you’re staying-“

“Yes, Esse, I’ll see them, but can I see Frodo first?” he asked, cutting her off. She was starting to ramble on like a proper Took, and if he didn’t cut her off now, he’d never get the chance again.

She caught his hand as an answer and led him down the hall. Nothing seemed out of place, including a few things that were obviously Primula and Drogo’s hanging about on the walls. Things he would gift to Elodie and Frodo, when the time came and they wanted them. If they wanted them left up, he would leave them, but one of the first things he’d done after his parents had passed was to remove everything of theirs, save for the daily types of things and their pictures above the mantel. Perhaps Elodie and Frodo would feel differently. He would offer them the choice, at the very least.

They didn’t go down the hall very far, until Esmeralda was nudging him towards an open door into a room lit only by the sun. In the small bedroom was where he found them, Elodie and Frodo both. He slowly stepped inside, glancing around the room.

It had been his, once upon a time, before he’d taken the other larger bedroom. It was still painted, the walls a creeping green that went up to about Elodie’s height before ending in jagged painted spikes, sharp and long like blades of grass, climbing up the wooden walls. Bilbo remembered painting them with his mother, splashing the color everywhere.

On the floor sat Elodie in front of a tiny little tot with dark, curly hair that seemed to go everywhere. She glanced up at him when he came in, then whispered something to the little one. Two bright blue eyes whipped around, watching him in silence.

Much bigger than the babe Bilbo had seen last. Much, much bigger. He was a proper lad of five, from what Bilbo could remember. Where he’d been barely born and clinging to Primula a few years ago, now he was obviously steady on his feet as he stood, still staring at Bilbo.

“He’s not really spoken a lot,” Esmeralda said quietly from beside him. “We’ve talked with him, and he’s been cheery enough sometimes, but he doesn’t really speak a lot. I’m just warning you.”

Bilbo gave a small nod to show that he’d heard her, then moved into the room. Frodo’s eyes followed him all the way down as Bilbo knelt in front of him. His eyes were as bright as Primula’s had been, and his hair was as wild as Drogo’s. It made something ache in Bilbo’s chest. Here was the perfect combination of both of his cousins, a living memory of them, and neither were here to see him grow.

“I don’t know if you remember me,” Bilbo began hesitantly. “But I came to visit you some years ago. I’m your uncle, Bilbo. And I’m going to live here with you now, you and Elodie and your other uncle. He’s a dwarf, and he’s a king. You were very small when you saw us last. You liked to nap on him, your little fingers in his beard.”

“He’s got a nice beard,” Elodie said, her voice like a whisper, and Bilbo nodded to encourage her.

“Yes, he does. Lots of braids of all sorts. He could teach you to braid it. He’s very good at it. See?” He pulled his marriage braid forward, letting his fingers run over the greatest treasure he’d ever been given. “He braided mine. It’s how dwarves show that they love each other.”

“Aunt Esmeralda has a braid, from Uncle Bofur,” Elodie said.

Bilbo glanced back over his shoulder at his cousin. She was determinedly looking anywhere else, but the braid running down by her ear was unmistakable, now that he looked for it. He’d be asking about it, later, because that braid hadn’t been there when he’d last seen her. “Yes she does,” Bilbo agreed, making Esse’s cheeks turn pink. “That’s because he loves her, very much.”

He turned back to Frodo, who was still staring at him. “Is that all right?” he asked. “If we come live with you? Because I would very much like to do that.”

Frodo seemed to pause, then glanced at Elodie. Elodie smiled at him, and he finally turned back to Bilbo. “Do you remember me?” Bilbo asked him.

There was another pause before Frodo nodded. Esmeralda pulled in a short breath, but said nothing else in her surprise. “Do you remember Thorin, your other uncle?” he asked, and Frodo nodded again. “Is it all right if we live here?”

Frodo bit his lip, looking so much like Drogo when he was confused that it physically hurt, twisting Bilbo’s chest into knots. Elodie seemed to be waiting as well, though her fingers were winding around each other in her nervousness. Hoping, waiting. Watching Frodo.

After a moment, Frodo met Bilbo’s gaze. He didn’t nod, but instead asked in the tiniest of voices, “Mama?”

Bilbo’s heart fell to somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. “She’s not here,” he said softly, hating himself for the way Frodo’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s somewhere else, now. She’s with…with my mother and my father.”

He could feel Elodie’s gaze on him, and Esmeralda’s too, and two other gazes that he should have known wouldn’t have stayed behind elsewhere. He cleared his throat, cheeks warming at the sudden scrutiny, but continued on. “They…left. A long time ago. And I miss them, very much, even today. It’s all right to miss them. But I’m not alone, not anymore. And you aren’t alone, either. Because I’m here now, and your Uncle Thorin is here, and so are Aunt Esmeralda and Uncle Bofur and your cousin Merry. So it’s all right that you miss them, because we’ll help you miss them. Just like I have friends and family who help me miss my mother and father.”

Frodo gazed at him, blue eyes shimmering like a sunlit pond. Then all of a sudden he was throwing himself at Bilbo and crying, big tears soaking straight through Bilbo’s shirt. Bilbo quickly embraced him, shushing him and whispering gentle words while he rocked him. He glanced up at Elodie whose own eyes were shining, her lower lip wobbling, and Bilbo quickly tugged her in until she fit against his other side. Both of them fit, actually, like little puzzle pieces.

Two big arms wrapped around them all, and Bilbo leaned his forehead forward until it rested against Thorin’s shoulder. His stalwart hero, his husband, always there. This dwarf, _his_ dwarf, who had traveled across Middle-Earth for him not once, not twice, but three times. And now he was here, clutching Frodo and Elodie as if they were his own kin, his own children. It made a knot suddenly rise in Bilbo’s throat, one he couldn’t seem to swallow back for anything.

He shut his burning eyes instead and just held on.

 

By candlelight that evening, once the children had been put to bed, stories unfolded.

“We found them the next morning,” Bofur said quietly. He pulled another swig from his mug before setting it down. “Elodie came racin’ up the road, shouting that they hadn’t come home, they hadn’t come home, and Esmeralda took Elodie and Frodo while we went down to the river. Tim, Hamfast, and I got them up and ready for burial. Ground was soft enough still that we _could_ bury ‘em.”

“They’re not far from your parents,” Esmeralda said. Her fingers were running over the edge of her tea cup absently. “But you know where their plots are.”

Bilbo nodded, and Thorin gently placed a hand over his husband’s, just to offer what little comfort he could. It had been all he _could_ do, today. He had held on to Bilbo, then to Elodie, then to little Frodo, who’d clung to him and his beard once more, as he’d done as a babe, and had refused to let go. He’d fallen asleep in Thorin’s arms, and after he’d been coaxed to let Thorin’s beard go, and Bilbo had guided a yawning Elodie to bed, they’d retired to the dining room table.

“Where’s Merry?” Bilbo asked.

“With Saradoc’s parents for the night. They love keeping him over,” Esmeralda said with a smile. “They spoil him rotten. And I’m glad they do. Though I swear they’re conspiring with Bofur over _how_ to spoil him.”

“Cruel job, but someone ought to do it,” Bofur said with a shrug, and even as Esmeralda scowled and shoved at him, she was laughing, and Bilbo was chuckling. Thorin watched Bofur just grin and stick his tongue out at her, and realized how happy the dwarf was, here in the quiet Shire. He’d grown his hair some, and his hat was still on his head, but there was a softness on his face, and some of the weary lines were gone. He was content, here.

It made Thorin happy to see. It made him yearn once more for the life he now had, but simply had not started yet. Soon. He’d taken steps today, and soon that life would be his.

For if there was anything one could say about Thorin Oakenshield, it was that he was determined, and when he set his mind to something, he would make it happen. And right then and there, his mind was focused on the Shire and a kind, relaxing life, with Bilbo by his side, and Elodie and Frodo running about.

“So, abdicated,” Bofur began as an introduction, and Thorin began telling the tale. He had to pause it a few times – Esmeralda and Bofur both began quietly yelling and scolding Bilbo about his ankle, which his husband merely rolled his eyes at – but by the time he was done, both the toymaker and his hobbit were satisfied.

“Are they going to stop back through?” Esmeralda asked. “When Fili and Kili are done with the Blue Mountains?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, surprising Thorin.

He blinked. “They are?”

“They are. It’s already been decided. They’re hoping to stay for a few months themselves. Fili muttered something about needing a calm atmosphere after the negotiations were through.”

Fair enough. “Then we’ll have a place for ‘em, when they come,” Bofur said firmly. “And we probably won’t be the only ones offerin’ a place to stay. We’re local heroes. It’ll be harder havin’ the hobbits let them _go_.”

It was a welcome that Fili and Kili would desperately need, after the Blue Mountains, though Thorin could only hope they would be met with kindness and willing hearts. If anyone could do the negotiation, it would be Fili.

“You could have gone with them,” Bilbo began softly, but Thorin immediately shook his head.

“No, I could not have. I am not a king, and that is who they need, now. They need traders, and they need the King of Erebor and his Advisor.” And the Advisor’s husband, the husband’s faithful friend, and the faithful friend’s stubborn dwarf who refused to be left behind. Well, it would make Gloin happy, that his son had come along. The dwarves of the Blue Mountains might not be as thrilled at seeing Legolas, and as soon as she opened her mouth, they were _definitely_ not going to be happy about seeing Tauriel. But Fili and Kili had needed all the strength they could get, and Tauriel had not been swayed from staying behind once Gimli had been determined to go. It would work out. Thorin had faith in them.

“You could have abdicated _after_ this-“

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Thorin asked dryly. “Because it does not matter what _could_ have happened. I am here now, and I cannot change what _could_ have been.”

“I just don’t want you regretting your choice, that’s all. Fili would give you the crown back, if you asked for it.”

He would, too, and without any resentment. Still, Thorin shook his head and took Bilbo’s hand in his. There wasn’t any uncertainty on his husband’s face. He truly only wanted to know if Thorin was all right, if he regretted his choice or not.

And he did not.

Bilbo seemed to see it in his face, for he began to smile, that small little smile that Thorin always wanted to kiss and kiss until Bilbo’s lips were warm and pliant beneath him. As if sensing _those_ thoughts, Bilbo’s cheeks went a little pink, and Bofur began to chuckle.

“The bedroom’s down the hall, lads, and if you’re inclinin’ towards the kitchen table, at least wait until after we leave.”

“Bofur,” Esmeralda said, even as Bilbo went pinker still. Thorin could feel his own cheeks burning just a little. “Really. Leave them in peace. They’ve had a hard journey, they deserve a moment to themselves. Or several moments, if they want.”

“ _Esmeralda_ ,” Bilbo said in exasperation and more than a little bit of embarrassment. Esmeralda just grinned, and Bofur let out a laugh.

They said their goodbyes, though Bilbo told Esmeralda they’d be speaking tomorrow about her braid. Bofur went a bit red in the cheeks and spoke almost shyly, saying, “We, uh. Got engaged last fall.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Bilbo demanded. “Why not?”

“It was sudden!” Esmeralda insisted. “We’ve been dancing around it for nearly seven years and we finally decided we wanted to be wed! It won’t be a big ceremony-“ which Bilbo snorted at, causing Esmeralda to make a face, “-all right, so my family is a bit big, and Saradoc’s family wants to be there, and they adore Bofur, and Lobelia is demanding to stand on Bofur’s side of the family, and it’s all been very sudden. And I was going to tell you later but I suppose now’s the best time, since it’s already been blurted out.” She gave Bofur a sideways glare. Bofur just shrugged with an unapologetic grin on his face.

“It’s not that I’m not happy for you both,” Bilbo said. “I would have liked a little bit of warning, that’s all. Or a proper note. You can send me a raven telling me I’ve lost two of my cousins, it would’ve been nice to hear _good_ news, too.” He raised an eyebrow at them.

Thorin decided to cut in before Esmeralda started off again. He’d forgotten how she could ramble on. “When is the wedding?”

Bofur and Esmeralda exchanged a glance. “Oh for Eru’s sake, don’t tell me it’s _tomorrow_ ,” Bilbo said incredulously.

“No! In a month. Though, if the others are coming from the Blue Mountains, we could delay it.” Esmeralda suddenly beamed, tugging on Bofur’s hand. “I never thought we’d have them all here, but wouldn’t it be grand?”

“Couldn’t ask for more,” Bofur agreed, grinning. “Think they could be here in a month?”

“If I wrote them and told them there was a wedding here in the Shire, they would be here,” Thorin assured him. It would only encourage Fili to wrap up the prolonged talks that much sooner.

Esmeralda and Bofur were as pleased as could be, and both promised to be over the next day, just to ensure everyone was all right. Then the door finally shut, and Bag-End seemed a lot quieter. Not in a bad way, but the complete silence was disconcerting. It had never been quiet in the mountain: someone was always up and moving around. _Always_. And now there was nothing, save for the gentle breeze outside and the creaking of the floorboards when they moved about.

“I’m going to check on Elodie and Frodo,” Bilbo said in a hushed voice, as if feeling the silence the same way Thorin did. “I’ll meet you in our room.” Then he was gone, feet padding silently down the hall. Thorin watched him go, the light from the hallway candles making his curls glow, including the small grey parts that were starting to emerge here and there.

In the still of Bag-End, Thorin finally allowed himself a chance to look around. The furniture had not changed, though there were more books in some of the shelves. Several pictures remained on the walls, and he wondered which ones had been Bilbo’s from so long ago that had just been left up.

‘Our room’ was what Bilbo had said. Their smial, their home. Bag-End was _theirs_. It was not just a small hole in the ground, it was a home, their home, and Thorin felt like a fool for having always considered it Bilbo’s. Yet in his mind, Bag-End had belonged to Bilbo, the things within it also Bilbo’s. Never once had he considered it theirs, that it could also belong to _him_.

The fireplace with the low flames, the kitchen table he had dined at more than once. The room down the hall he had slept in on numerous occasions, the bed he had shared with Bilbo. The pantry that Esmeralda and Bofur had stocked just for them, the windows that let in the sunshine, the little spot near the door where Bilbo had huddled the night of the wedding, the garden where they’d gardened together five years ago, it was all here, and it was all theirs. It would be theirs until the end of their days.

And the amount of _want_ that warmed his belly was enough to tell Thorin that yes, he had made the right choice.

He left his boots by the door, his stockings making a few rasping sounds, cloth against wood, as he moved down the hall. A few creaks were made, not having quite learned where all of the noise-making spots were. He would learn. He would find them all, in the years to come.

He passed the open door and paused. A small form was fast asleep in one of the beds – Elodie, from the looks of it – and another small form was most certainly not. Bilbo was seated on the bed with Frodo in his arms, forehead pressed against the tot’s. His voice was hushed, and Thorin quietly moved closer to hear.

“…down the hall, all right? Just a quick few steps away. You can come get me whenever, or come get your Uncle Thorin. He’s a king, you know, so he’s very good at getting up to help anyone at anytime.”

Frodo nodded, moving Bilbo’s head a little. “So you shouldn’t be afraid to sleep. We’re right here.”

“Papa,” he whispered. Bilbo’s face twisted a little at the tiny voice. It was all Thorin could do to keep himself in the doorway and not step in to try and help. There was truly nothing he could do, however, beyond offer comfort. And right then and there, it wasn’t his comfort that Frodo wanted.

Bilbo sighed. “He can’t come back, dear one. I’m so sorry. Mine can’t come back either, and sometimes I miss him and my mother so much I hurt inside. A lot of my friends and family can’t come back anymore.”

Then he suddenly leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Frodo’s nose, startling a little laugh from the tot and making him rub his nose almost viciously. “But I have your Uncle Thorin, and he always stays right by my side, and I have other people, too. And now I have you and Elodie. I’d very much like to have you both right by my side to help me smile. Would you do that? We could trade.”

Frodo’s smile was gone, but he was still brushing his nose with his tiny fingers. “Trade?” he repeated dutifully.

“Trade: you stay by my side, and I’ll stay by yours. How’s that sound?”

There was a long pause as Frodo rubbed at his eyes, clearly exhausted. He yawned, a big yawn, then nodded. “Trade,” he said sleepily, but he slid up to his knees in order to press a messy kiss to Bilbo’s nose. Bilbo smiled and wrapped him up in his arms, and Thorin had to step out of the room for fear that his eyes would start burning. He took a few breaths, deep ones.

When he could finally step back in with his emotions well under control, he found Bilbo tucking Frodo in with a last kiss to his brow. It was such a startling memory, of Bilbo doing the same with Frodo as a babe only five years ago, that Thorin had to blink a few times to ensure that it was not the present. Bilbo glanced to the door, where Thorin was, then carefully stepped away. Frodo shifted once in his little bed, then fell into a deep sleep.

Quiet steps brought Bilbo to Thorin, and together the two of them took a moment to gaze into the room. “Elodie’s going to need her own room, soon enough, given her age,” Bilbo said softly. “She was going to have one all her own, do you remember, when Prim spoke to us on our last visit? Then this happened, and. Well.”

“There are plenty of rooms for her to choose from, and I can help craft furniture to suit anything she desires,” Thorin promised, voice pitched low. She would want for nothing, if he had anything to say about it. Frodo and Elodie would be given the world.

Bilbo hummed in agreement before silently closing the door. As he turned to head to their room, Thorin caught his hand, staying him, and earning him a look of confusion.

“I’m not a king anymore,” he said quietly, thinking back to Bilbo’s promise to Frodo. Bilbo’s hand was warm in his, so very warm, a sight better than the cold he’d been in Erebor.

Bilbo’s smile was still visible in the dark. “You are, and will always be, _my_ king.” He tugged at Thorin’s hand. “Come to bed, my liege. It’s been a long day.”

And more long days before them, complete with plenty of nosy neighbors, he was certain, and children who were still coping with grief. Bilbo, too, was still grieving his cousins, though he was in the later stages now, where it would crop up as a memory that left him suddenly filled with sorrow. Thorin knew that stage far too well.

But in a month, they would have a wedding, and Thorin could only hope that Fili and the others would be able to attend. He would write the letter tomorrow. Deal with the neighbors tomorrow. Be ready for any appearances of grief tomorrow.

Tonight, there was a warm bed and a warmer hobbit waiting for him. There were no final reports to look over, no guards to speak to before retiring to his room. There was nothing to do except…go to bed.

He followed Bilbo all the way there, hand in hand, his husband’s steps steady and sure. This, Thorin knew, he could get used to.

He was looking forward to it.

_Finis_


End file.
